Far Cry
by Legwarmer
Summary: Last chapter up! When Raoul gets to the Opera, he falls for Mme Giry. Erik disagrees with this relationship and acts against them. Tragedy takes its way and destiny may guide them... DramaHumor [RaoulAntoinette]Humor: C.Bashing
1. Chapter 1

**--------A/N**: Okay, I think I'm just writing a brand new pairing, not yet explored by POTO-writers on Have fun! And tell me what you think.

**--------Summary:** When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. How Christine deals with the loss of her love and how Madame Giry responds. Raoul/Antoinette

**Chapter one --- On Stage **

It was another rainy day of his life. The clouds danced around the Opera, which he had just financed another decade of glamour. Raoul was lucky to be in such a leading position. The Opera was right in front of him, laid to his feet, ready to be enchanted by his ideas.

It was true; the Opera was not what it used to be anymore. The dancers were said to be bad and the people only shrugged about the Opera's singers. Raoul had the needed freshness on his cheeks to push things forward. And he knew about his capability.

When he first stepped into the big hall of the Opera, he was calm and confident. Nothing on earth could hold him back from creating a totally new environment of glamour, glory, pride and dispute about which evening would be the most breathtaking. Some minutes later, the other gentlemen had joined him to be introduced to the leaders of the Opera - some teachers, people who organized which of the important people were to be invited to the performances, and finally, the actors and singers, ballerinas and cleaners themselves. Raoul was not going to leave any of them out; they all worked on making the Opera glamorous, even if all they did was clean the stairs.

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The faces quickly passed and after an hour, he had introduced himself to most of the people. There were the ballerinas, one of them claimed to know him. Her name was Christine, but didn't bother him that much. She was just another hypocrite trying to steal his money. Her brown eyes were impressive, but soon he stopped thinking about it. Business was more important. Then, there were the other singers, an Italian woman tried to get a date with him. Of course, although he was 'very touched' by that, he _had_ to say no. Business was more important. It's not like he'd care.

"Monsieur Le Vicomte de Chagny, there is one woman we have not introduced to you yet. Her name is Madame Giry." He looked up. A blonde girl, a ballerina, stood in front of him and blinked surprisingly often as if there was something in her eyes she wanted to get rid of.

"Oh, yes?" he asked and shrugged. "Well, where is she?"

"She claims to be working hard in the rehearsal room. Doesn't want to be interrupted." A smile crept on the girl's face.

Raoul shrugged again. 'A Madame Giry who denies to get to know me?' he thought and scratched his head.

"When will she be ready?" he asked.

"In an hour."

"Okay, tell her to meet me on stage. I want to take a look around."

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He stepped on stage and looked around, indeed, he was overwhelmed by the sight. But then, a voice distracted him from the beauty.

"Are you the Vicomte de Chagny?" a woman's bright voice said. He turned around.

"Yes", he replied and smiled in return.

"I'm Madame Giry. Excuse my exercise, but I needed it. I don't want to get stiff. Then, I wouldn't be a good example for my ballerinas anymore." She smiled.

Raoul felt his mouth form a smile. "It's not that bad. Now that you are here." 'Am I really just saying this?' he thought in that moment, 'I'm an idiot for doing this.'

"I'm the ballet teacher. There is no more that you need to know about me. What I do is to be seen in the performances itself. If my work's been good, you see the girls dance beautifully."

"You don't dance?" he asked because he couldn't think of another question to ask her.

"No, I don't. My career on stage is over. It continues behind the curtain, though."

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"Do you think he remembers me, although he said he didn't?" Christine turned to Meg.

"I don't know. Maybe you should ask him again. What about tonight? When you perform, he will be thrilled. I bet he'll remember then."

"You think so?"

"Yes", Meg said and put her pointes off. "Why not?"

Christine sat down next to her. "All I can think about is him. I've seen him only once, two hours ago, but Meg, he's just -"

Meg rubbed her toes. "These pointes really -"

"Meg!"

"What?"

"You're not listening!"

"I am. You were just about to tell me he was the man of your dreams."

Christine giggled. "Yes, he is. I'll show him that I am the princess of his dreams!"

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The Angel leaned against the wall of the dressing room and closed his eyes. A smile crept on his face. 'You'll forget about him. He's not meant to be with you. All he can think of isn't you. It's somebody else. My little Christine, you will learn it, and you'll love me like you've always done.' Then, he touched the wall. 'Let tonight show it to you. You'll be lonely in your rooms. No He-remembers-me-Raoul there to fight for taking you from me. You're mine, if you pout about it or not.'


	2. Performance

**------------A/N:** Okay, my dear readers didn't say much about what they think of this. It's okay, I guess the chapter wasn't that gorgeous. I'll write some more to make sure you see the development.

**------------Summary:** When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. How Christine deals with the loss of her love and how Madame Giry responds. Raoul/Antoinette

**Chapter Two --- Performance **

Madame Giry stood up and approached Meg. She sat down next to her on the ground and watched her sewing her pointes.

"You want new ones?" she asked and handed her a new pair of shoes. "Yours are thoroughly dead." Meg smiled but shook her head. "These are my lucky ones. I can't dance without them."

"Meg, there's no luck in the world but hard work."

The shrill voice of a complaining Christine sharply rushed though the air. Madame Giry frowned. "What is it this time?" she said to herself and turned around.

There she was, in her white Sissi-dress, looking like an overdressed bride. At least they didn't have to buy a new dress - she had exactly the same size as the Italian singer. Her face was red and her eyes big with fear. "I can't go out there", she whispered, "I can't. He's out there. He didn't even recognize me! I can't!"

Madame stood up and patted her shoulder. "You'll be fine. Who is the man you are talking about?" Her patience would find its grave in Christine's answer.

"It's Raoul!"

Madame sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. "You're so distracted by a man?" She turned away to help Meg sew her shoes.

"But it's my big night! I have no man watching me!" Obviously, she pouted.

"You've got the whole audience. Shut up."

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Raoul set down in a chair and took some looks around. He liked to watch the audience prepare for performances. It had something holy, sacred, the excitement crept onto his skin to dig its way into his veins where it poured into his blood up into his head. This was his new empire. He'd be the king. He'd rule all of them. He'd make them smile whenever he wanted to, he'd make them laugh or cry. It was the power of the dancers, the singers, the performers. He felt like a king.

After some minutes of audience-watching he had enough, though. The faces looked all the same, rich people with their dresses and diamonds. No one of them knew what a real Opera was anymore - they all forgot it. All they wanted was entertainment, so they'd get it. 'Excellent entertainment', he thought and smiled to himself, 'your eyes will pop out.' Then he decided to stop dreaming about his soon-to-be empire and rather find out how much work he'd have to do. He waited for the light to dim and for the dancers to start moving their stiff arms and legs. Of course, it wouldn't be as good as he hoped, but he had a lot of time on his hands to turn this Opera into a first class theatre. God, and Madame Giry would be by his side, all the time. He hoped.

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Meanwhile, Christine stood behind the curtain and felt her heart pumping. She heard the excitement of the audience and waited for the evening's performance to start. She shivered and closed her eyes to calm down. She expected a lot of her voice, especially tonight. She would have to impress him. Maybe he'd remember.

Then, the curtain lifted and the hot spot shone onto her. She blinked and tried to smile. Everything seemed so big in front of her. The music started. But she couldn't. Her neck felt stiff and fear grabbed her. She didn't open her mouth. 'I can't sing', she thought slowly and hissed a "Sorry" into the air. She turned around and ran off the stage: the end of her career. No performer runs from the stage and ever comes back. No one.

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"Christine!" Madame Giry ran behind her. "What's going on? Stop! Christine!"

Christine stopped running in front of her room. "What?" She hissed back at her. "What do you want?"

"What's going on? Why didn't you sing? You've done that so many times!"

"I can't. I just can't. The audience frightened me."

"But Christine, don't you know the rule for performers who flee?" Madame's eyes grew wide and expressed pure sadness. "They're fired."

Christine shivered. "Well."

Madame opened the door and pulled Christine into her room. "Why, Christine, why? Don't you let your life be destroyed by some boy!"

"He's not only a boy", Christine tried to defend her upcoming feelings for Raoul. "He's my Raoul!"

"But he doesn't know you", she gave back, "stop dreaming! Vicomtes never marry ballerinas, or singers, neither anything below nobility!"

"That's what you think! Times have changed!"

Madame laughed snidely. "No, that will never change. Why, Christine? Why? You were the most talented singer I've ever met! Now your career is trash. It's a golden rule, the Golden Rule, didn't you know?"

"I knew. You taught me."

"You may never get back on stage at all, maybe as a cleaner. And that might be honorable for such a behavior. What a pity."

"Who'll decide?" Christine asked as if she hoped that person would be full of goodness and mercy.

"Monsieur Le Vicomte, who else?"

With those words, Christine started to cry and sank to the ground. Her career was indeed over.

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Madame Giry moved back to the big hall to talk to the Vicomte. He had told her he'd wait for her to talk about the future of the Opera. 'He plans to make it grand', Antoinette thought and took the steps up to the hall. 'He'll make us famous.' She thought about wearing a green dress the next day instead of black. A little color could help their relationship. 'What am I thinking?" she asked silently as she caught herself thinking about Raoul in that way. 'It's not my place to think about a relationship to him, any other than a business relationship. He's the Vicomte. I'm the ballet teacher. Or was Christine right? Would he …'

Her thoughts were interrupted. She had reached the hall and there he stood, leaning against a wall, looking out of the window. He looked so fresh, so certain, so young. Not foolish, not aggressive, but smart. 'Antoinette, immediately stop these thoughts.' Then, he saw her and stepped next to her, taking her hand to kiss it.

"Good evening, Madame", he said and smiled at her, a gentle smile. It stroked her cheeks and made her blush.

She stared at him in disbelief. No man had ever done this. No one ever thought she'd be a Lady, a Madame. No one. Her hand remained in his.

"An interesting performance this evening", he said calmly.

"Yes", Madame gave back. "Indeed."

"It's not very good for our reputation."

"Our?" Madame asked, surprised. "It's your Opera."

"No. It's ours. It belongs to everyone, but especially to both of us. I'll need you. You are my instrument. I need you for the girls to perform well. I can't do it alone, or with anybody else." He still didn't let go of her hand. "I want this Opera to be grand. Please, help me."

Madame shivered and wanted other matters to be talked about. It was ridiculous to think he would really want her help. It made her blush again, let alone the fact that his hands were so soft and warm. She was way too old for such young feelings. But she couldn't tear her hand out of his.

"Monsieur, please tell me you are willing not to fire Madame Daae. She's a perfect singer… it's only… she was not … I know it's unusual, but we need her."

"I understand. You might want to leave her in ballet. She doesn't need to search for another Opera. If that is what you want."

"Yes, thank you", she said.

"It's your wish?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Would you like to …"

"I really have to go. Thank you."

"Very well then. We shall meet tomorrow morning for ballet training", he said, "when you can show me what the other girls are capable of."

"Good night." He kissed her hand again. She couldn't respond, totally amazed by the happenings. She only turned around and left. An aura of total inaccessibility was left by her, the Vicomte turned back to look out of the window and watch the sleepy Paris calm down. Smiling.

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The Angel of Music closed the door. A smile on his face, he turned from the hall and took the stairs down up to Christine's room. He'd talk to her through the mirror again. He had heard enough of Madame and Raoul's conversation to be calmed down. There was nothing for him to fear. He was astonished about Christine's weakness, but at least Raoul did clearly not respond her feelings. Of course he'd have to amaze Christine with his voice again, again and again until she would realize that he was the only one for her. Her sadness would fade away… he'd work it out. 'If it doesn't fade away', he thought, 'I'll kill some more people. She's mine. She'll always be.' The people he was going to kill were still not clear to him. He'd maybe start with Meg, Christine's best friend. Then he could kill some more ballerinas. They annoyed him, anyway. They didn't sing… that was their mistake. After some ballerinas for dinner he could make his way up to …………


	3. Run and Hide

-----------A/N: Hey, good morning! Or whatever time of the day it is. Here's another chapter. Thank you so much for reviewing "Far Cry"! I hope you'll like it.

-----------Disclaimer (which I've forgotten in the last two chapters): I don't own Phantom Of The Opera, nor any of its characters. I wish Madame Giry was mine, but alas, she's not…

**Chapter Three --- Run and Hide **

It rained. A promising morning laid its eyes upon the Opera Populaire and, finally, the sunlight bathed Christine's bedroom. She yawned and stretched her skinny arms. Only then, as if she was unable to see much of the day, she opened her eyes. Staring at the ceiling, she remembered what had happened the day before. Immediately, she blushed. She filled her tiny stomach and it ached. 'Maybe I should eat something. Once in a while', she thought and remembered what Madame Giry had told her about anorexia. She stood up and got dressed in another, half see-through dress. She was a little scared of going down to the breakfast. She had embarrassed herself. Deeply. But then, hunger won the battle and she went down.

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The ballerinas usually ate their breakfast in a room near the kitchen. When she entered it, some eating ballerinas looked up from their plates. Remaining silent, she sat down next to a blonde ballerina with a deep cleavage. The deep cleavage caught Christine's eye and she stared at the boobs that almost fell out of it. It was some moments later when she realized that the ballerina sitting right next to her was her best friend, Meg. She frowned.

"Good morning, Meg", she said and yawned once more.

"Hey. Did you sleep well?"

"Um… Yes", she gave back and grabbed some marmalade to put on her croissant. "But I dreamed about yesterday night. Horrible."

"Why? Did you dream how I lost my lucky pointes?"

Christine shrugged. "What? Why should I dream about-"

"Well, it certainly is a nightmare." Meg sipped her white chocolate. "You know, a few days ago -"

"Meg! It was about my performance!"

"Oh." Meg paused. "Yes. The performance." She paused again. "What did Mom say? I didn't dare to ask her. She didn't want to talk to anybody after yesterday night."

"Well, I guess my stage career is pretty much over." She sighed and poured some coffee into her cup. "I guess there aren't many chances to impress Raoul as a cleaner."

"Chris! Is this gay Vicomte still the only thing on your mind?" Meg asked. Christine coughed up some coffee and, doing that, her face turned deep red.

"He's hopefully not gay!" she pressed out of her mouth. "No doubt! He's so mature, so good-looking, so nice to everybody, he embodies natural beauty, strength and … Uh I cannot find the right words! He's the man of my dreams!"

"Yes, I got that", Meg said and grabbed another croissant. "So, what are you going to do about the Golden Rule?"

"Whatever he wants."

"He? I thought it depends on Mom", she said frowning. "Maybe I could … you know… say some nice things about you?"

"No, I am not talking about Giry", she said and chewed on her food. "I think Le Vicomte is the one I should turn to."

"For a date? No, about the Golden Rule? No. Just leave it and beg Madame Giry to take you back."

"I'll make him see me. Maybe I should get him a doctor's appointment. He should get his eyes checked."

"Ya", Meg answered and went off. Christine shrugged.

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Madame Giry sat on her bed and stared out of the window. The opening door didn't tear her away from her thoughts. She stared down on the streets and watched the people go by. 'All of them are the same age. What would it look like if the women were much older than the men? It would look inappropriate. I can't do this. He looks so gay!' She sighed. 'But something about his caring thoughts for the Opera is touching, it's attractive. God.' She slowly hit her head on the glass. 'Need - to - stop - those - thoughts!'

"Mom?"

The shock made her turn around. "Yes?" her nerve-wracked voice asked. "What is it, honey?"

"Feel that you have been reminded that you have classes in ten minutes", she carefully said and set down on the floor to watch the reaction of her mother.

Antoinette sighed loudly. "Yes, I guess I did forget about that."

"Usually, you're already upstairs under the roof, warming up. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Um, Meg, could you take over my stretching class this morning?"

"Why? Are you not feeling well?"

"It's nothing… I just… Need to run some errands in the city."

"But Mom, I can do that. What do you need?"

'Right', Madame thought, 'that was a bad one. I just need to think up something smarter. If I don't feel well, he'll be with me in a minute, followed by thousands of docs.' And that was the last thing on earth she wanted. Well, she wanted to want. She did want him upstairs indeed, but she wasn't allowed to want it.

"It's okay. I will be fine." She wouldn't go there, she knew it already. It was the "Run and Hide" game she was going to play.

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Meg entered the rehearsal room and joined the others who were warming up. Throwing her bag on the ground, she sat down and stretched her legs.

"Hey, Meg, did they already tell you Monsieur Le Vicomte will show up to watch us?" a blonde, big-breasted ballerina said to Meg. "It's probably just a rumor, but isn't it-?"

"He's going to _what?_" Meg thought she had misunderstood something. 'GOD, please, NO-'

"Yes!"

"Uh, no -" Meg shook her head. 'She'll stare at him instead of stretching. She'll fly into his arms, she'll lick half his face if possible…'

One second later, an impressive silence fell upon the rehearsal room. Monsieur Le Vicomte had entered the room and his satisfied look didn't allow any loud AAHs or OOHs. One look around and all of the ballerinas silently gasped. He sat down on a chair by the window.

"So, Mesdames, where is your teacher?" He was visibly disappointed by not seeing Madame Giry. None of the girls dared to answer. But one… the big-breasted blonde ballerina whose name was surprisingly not Meg. "She's not here yet."

He nodded. "Alas."

"I could begin", Meg suggested.

"Yes, please, we don't want to waste any time."

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Christine ran down the stairs and pushed open the rehearsal room doors. 'Darn', she thought and stepped next to the ballerinas who had just begun their training. 'Late, late, she'll kill me', she thought, but no voice interrupted the pianist's music. After 20 minutes, she had forgotten about any punishment for her being late. When she did a couple of pirouettes and some arabesques, her eyes caught Raoul. And she squeaked loudly. The music stopped. Everybody stared at her.

"Are you Le Vicomte?" she gasped.

"Yes", he said, not very amused by her big, asking eyes. "And?"

"Well, you see, my name's -"

Meg interrupted her. "Chris! Stop it, this is class and not a café."

Christine stared at her. "But Meg, I thought you were my best -"

"Now I'm your teacher." Christine shrugged, turned back and continued to do arabesques, which, altogether, looked rather like a beginner's.

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"Where's Madame Giry?" Raoul stepped next to Meg after class. "I thought she'd be here. We spoke about meeting…"

"Yes. She said she had some errands to run in the city."

"Ah. Well." He was disappointed. But no bad thought crept up to him. No… he couldn't blame this wonderful Madame for anything. 'She'll have her reasons', he thought. "You look just like her."

"I'm her daughter" Meg replied in turn.

"You dance beautifully." He smiled. "Could you give her this?" he took a letter out of his pocket, "and have her contact me as soon as she gets back? We need to talk about the future of the Opera. I'll be with the singers from now on."

Meg took the letter and put it in her bag. "It's not like her not to come to class", she said, "but I guess she'll have some important things to do."

"Yes." He turned around to leave. 'She'll be back soon, I hope.'

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'This is ridiculous.' Madame walked over the Place de la Concorde. 'Now I'm running away from some man who puts my existence in danger. He threatens what I built up all those years. All these years without any men in my life! I won't fall for some young jerk! Is he a jerk? I don't even know him. The less I see of him, the better,' she breathed silently in the Paris air.

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The Phantom smiled and stepped out of his boat. "Christine, my love, sit down", he said and pointed to his bed. "Let us talk."

"Yes, I have so much to say!"

"Indeed? I thought we would _talk_. Well, but if you really have something to say, let the words float." She sat down. "So, he's this new guy, his name is Raoul, I've known him for so long! He's got brown hair."

The Phantom sat down next to her and handed her a bottle of wine. 'You'll need it', he thought. "Uh, thanks", she took the bottle and drank some wine. "So, what happened yesterday night is unimportant to talk about, I guess you saw it anyway - but this morning! He was in rehearsal, and I didn't even know! I was late! What a shame!"

"Well -"

"Yes, that's what it was like. Why did I eat something this morning? Why? I was probably all fat!"

"No, you're fine, actually you could -"

"And THEN I saw him and fell off my supporting foot. My ankle still hurts." She pointed at her ankle.

"But was Giry there?" he asked. 'She should have done a good job from preventing him to look at you.'

"No, who cares about her? HE was there, you should have seen him, this light around his eyes, he sent shivers down my spine! He's so wonderful!" Although he was disappointed that Christine had a lot of time on her hands drooling over him without any professional distracting her, he thought about more important matters:

"Christine, why don't we _talk?_" he hinted.

"But we _are_ talking, aren't we? I'm just telling you about _him_." She breathed in deeply.

"Chris, honey, please. Look, I brought some wine along," he started to kiss her neck.

"But Erik, don't touch me!"

"Why not? Why else are you down here?"

"I want to be untouched for him! A virgin!" She sighed dramatically and day-dreamed.

Erik coughed and drank some wine. "You're not seriously thinking about that. You can't turn back time and delete all we did."

"But Erik, I read that if you haven't had sex for at least six months, then it's almost like you've never had any." The Phantom drank more wine. And more. And more. So much that he had to buy more wine the next day. And he usually had a lot of bottles down in his catacombs.


	4. If you admit it or not

**----A/N:** Thanks for all those beautiful reviews! To be honest, I wrote the first chapter in order to write a romance Raoul/Antoinette. Obviously, I created something else, too: Something hilarious? Really? Oh! Well, as long as you have fun and I can keep on bashing Christine:-) _This one is not as funny as the last one, **I just needed to write more about Raoul and Madame**._

**----Summary**: When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. Christine pouts. Madame is confused. C. gets on Erik's nerves. How he tries to get rid of her. DramaParody RaoulAntoinette

**---Disclaimer:** I do not own POTO...

**---Claimer:** .. but I own the blonde, big-boobed ballerina! This chapter you'll find out her name! Hua hua hua! If you want to have her, just take her… I don't fancy her, anyway.

_**---------------------------------Special Thanks to Queen-Chick, Incapability, MadameGiryMiranda, and last, but not least Meg Giry!**_

**Chapter Four - If you admit it or not **

It was his aura…this certain something surrounding him. Was it his aftershave? Was it his gay smile? None of these things ever used to cause Antoinette Giry to fall for a man. She was always able to resist some smile, some smell, but that man had something bringing her down to her knees. It was a miracle, yet it happened. It was unbelievable.

Although she had fallen in love with men before, this time it was vulgar, raffish, tabooed. Left alone the fact that he acted as if there was nothing to hold him back. He neglected all education, all ethics, every rule that kept society a safe place. And if there was one single cell in Madame Giry that had a mistake, was not unlikable, it was that weak spot on her heart: She would give everything for a man who had courage…especially if that courage had something to do with her. And it had, indeed.

Raoul's courage, Raoul himself had more to do with her than she wanted to admit to herself. She had fallen for him the moment she had seen him standing in the hall, leaning against the wall, staring out of the window. How foolish the thought of it sounded to herself. But deep inside her heart, Antoinette was only a woman like thousands; she wanted to have somebody next to her at night.

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"Erik!"

He didn't open his eyes but kept on snoring out of his open mouth. Christine sat up in the bed and shook him. "Erik, gosh, wake up! Wake up! I've got classes during the week, you know that!"

"Hum?" He opened one eye but closed it half a second later, shocked by the sight. "Christine, your make-up… it's… gone…"

"But I thought you loved the more natural tint!"

"Yeah. But on you, the make-up really looked good." He sighed. Christine stared at him, not understanding what he had meant. "Wait, what, do you mean make-up looks good on me? Or do you…"

"Yes, exactly", he tried to shut her up and turned away. "You know what, I have a headache after yesterday night."

"I'm very angry with you!"

"Why?" He chuckled. "Because I said the make-up thing…?"

"No, I'm talking about yesterday night!"

"Yes, that night was long."

"I mean, you didn't even listen to me! Not even after the sex!"

"I guess I was too drunk."

"You'll be an alcoholic one day." She shrugged. 'If you keep on knocking me out with your talking, then I'll be an alcoholic, indeed', he thought and turned back to her. "Don't you have classes?"

"Uh, wait, Erik! Now I remember why I was so angry! Because we had sex! I told you I wanted to be a virgin!"

"Yup, that's one of the many things you said."

"But Erik, if I want to be a virgin, we need to stop doing this!"

"Right. Clever girl."

She smiled proudly about the compliment. Then, she giggled. "I know, I'm getting better and better. This is why I'll be with Raoul one day!"

"Okay, honey, you know what?" Erik sat up and looked around. "You had better not come down here until you're done with your Vicomte-thing."

"But Erik, I thought we were friends! That would mean after our wedding?"

"Yes", he said patiently, "we are, but look, you'll have a lot of things to do when you want to get your Raoul. So, I just think you should invest your time better."

"In make-up?" She giggled again. "He'd like it, huh?"

'Or a brain-check', the Phantom thought and stood up, feeling his body ache.

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Christine was late for classes again. When she opened the door to the rehearsal room, all the other ballerinas were already on their pointes. She hurried up putting hers on.

"Mademoiselle Daae," Giry's voice sounded through the hall. The pianist stopped playing and the girls exchanged haggard looks. "You are late again."

"Yes", she apologized. "I'm sorry."

"That's not enough" Madame Giry approached her. "Especially after your performance, which became dust, you should take care. What would Monsieur Le Vicomte think, if he found out that you're not careful after he was so nice to you?"

"He'd be appalled", the Vicomte said. Antoinette turned around, her eyes wide with shock. Only Christine's eyes were wider.

"Good morning", she said, "I didn't know you would -"

"Well, you weren't here yesterday morning, so I thought I'd come back." He closed the door behind him and sat down on a chair. "Please, don't feel disturbed."

"I won't", Madame said but thought differently. 'Darn it, why didn't I think up something for today?' "Christine, could you please show us your improved attitude?"

Christine shivered. "Oui", she said and stepped forward. "Which one?"

"The _improved _one", Madame repeated.

Christine breathed in and did her attitude, her improved attitude. Which was, Madame was honest to herself, not improved at all. Left alone that her arms swung around like dead chicken wings. "Maxime", Madame Giry turned to the blonde, big-breasted ballerina whose name was not Meg, "could you tell me what she did wrong?"

"Yes", Maxime, who was big-breasted, stepped forward, "her arms were not supported from her chest well enough. And her turnout was bad. I think she didn't stretch her legs, too."

Madame Giry nodded and sighed.

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The Phantom stepped back from the rehearsal room door. He chuckled hard and was afraid he could choke himself by that. 'God, and I hoped she'd be mine,' he thought and walked back down to his catacombs. 'She's just a … no word should be dishonored by being compared to her.' He chuckled again. 'Now I just need to throw her into this gay boy's arms and everything will turn out all right. I guess Madame Giry won't like it. I don't care as long as her make-up is on his pillow and not on mine.'

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Meg stayed after class. She loved additional work and wanted to improve her working leg, of course not without the help of her mother. To Raoul, this additional hour was a gift. He could look at Madame without any shame because Meg was too concentrated to mind his looks. Or at least he thought so. Although Madame Giry was nervous and full of sweat, she managed to help her daughter very well. So she pulled Meg's leg higher and higher, not stopping to comment her work. "Look at that turnout, Meg", she kept going, ignoring Raoul's eyes on her.

He just sat on his chair and watched. Satisfied. Lucky. The happiest man on earth. Madame was a good teacher. No mistake was unseen. She was strict and needed to be. 'Oh, my little empire is building up. It'll be so grand. Everyone will be jealous of us. The leader of the Opera, Le Vicomte, and his wife, the ballet teacher.' And he knew she'd say yes one day.

Because she had this little something in her eyes when she looked away. This excitement. Her nervous fingers shook when he came closer. And Raoul had good eyes nothing passed them. And Madame? She bathed in safety. She didn't expect Raoul to be clever. She didn't know he had fast brains and good eyes. She didn't want to know. 'Taboo', she thought, 'taboo…'

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"Mom? What was that?"

"What?" Madame Giry sat down on her bed and got rid of her shoes.

"He touched your hand!"

"And?" She seemed not to care. What a good actress she was.

"But Mom, he asked you out for dinner!"

"No, he didn't. We just need to talk about the Opera."

"While eating?"

"Why not?"

"But Mom! I tell you Christine loves him!" Meg couldn't really believe what she had just said.

"Love? Christine knows what love is? Yes, she would, if it was the newest brand of lipstick." Madame combed her hair. "She's at the end of her career. Did you see her in class today?"

"She's fallen in love. And I think she won't be thrilled that he's going out with you."

"He's not", Madame claimed. "Can you put that in mind? I'm not going out with him. We're only discussing our future."

"Your future? The Vicomte's and yours?"

"The Opera's future, Meg", she said and put off her clothes to dress in something warmer. "It's nothing, Meg", she claimed again.

"Okay. If you say so."

"I do."


	5. Tears

**:Author's Note:** Okay, so here's my fifth chapter. I hope you'll like it. Is there anyone who wants to be a reliable beta-reader? People told me my grammar sucks.

**:Claimer:** Maxime's mine! She's mine! Heheh! But I don't mind if you create your own, big-boobed, blonde ballerina. Really.

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO and don't even know if I want to. But it's a pity Mme. Giry wasn't my idea. sighs

**Chapter 5 : Tears **

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"I will tell him," Christine sighed and sat down on her bed. Meg leaned over. "What?" She was astonished. "Christine, you can't – he's a Vicomte. You really, really can't tell him."

"But I love him!" She dramatically crossed her legs and elogated her fingers to have a look at her perfect nails. "I love him more than… more than… Meg, help me."

"More than your life?" Meg shook her head and rolled her eyes. "No, really, Chris, you can't do this. He's practically out of your sight!"

"Why? We played together when we were kids." She closed her eyes. "I can still see it in front of my inner eye…"

"Chris, now look at what is in front of your eyes: Did he pay any attention to you?" Meg's eyes widened in hope that her …dear… friend might, finally, see the truth. But destiny had other plans for her.

"There's a handsome, intelligent man, and he has amazing eyes…"

"Okay, okay," Meg cried out loud, "didn't need to hear that. Then just go. But if he says 'no,' you have to promise me that you never ever use his name in my presence again!" She glared at her.

"Okie-dokie," she agreed and stood up. "I can't lose, anyway," she said, declaring her immortality of love and left the room. Meg shook her head again. 'This is not going to turn out nice,' she thought. 'And later, it's me who has to wipe her mascara-eyes!'

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Antoinette sat in front of her mirror and stared into her eyes, thinking about the impending evening. The sunlight fell into her room and reflected the brooch's gemstones, which lay on the table in front of her. She remembered sitting there eighteen years ago, a smile on her face, and how she prepared for a dinner with her ex-husband.

'It was no mistake,' she thought and eyed the brooch, 'today I have a beautiful ballerina as a daughter. But eighteen years ago, he wasn't a Vicomte. I never dated out of rank.' She sighed. She had never put it on again in all those years. She wanted to leave behind what time had elapsed, and the brooch was one of those things. It was her only jewelry. Her mother had given it to her in hope she'd marry a nice man who could feed her. 'She had no clue I'd be so stupid to date a Vicomte,' she thought, 'and she wouldn't be proud of me, too.' Her stupidity made her mad at herself. 'Why? Why? This _has_ to stay professional, otherwise I'll embarrass the whole Opera.' She decided it was a business meeting, for they really had to talk about the future of the Opera. She would, although, wear the brooch. Bewitching him was not allowed, but a little beauty could help the atmosphere at work.88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"She's going to tell WHOM?" Maxime's eyes widened. "NO!" She didn't believe her ears. "No, really?"

"Yes," Meg nodded her head, "but please don't tell anybody. I just need your help! Christine will …"

"You mean she will tell him about her love?"

"Yeah," Meg expressed her feelings, "that is exactly what will happen. She'll embarrass the whole Opera for that! He will leave!"

"God, no," Maxime's eyes almost popped out of her head as well as her breasts ran in danger to jump out of her cleavage.

"Somebody has to stop her!" Both of them jumped to their feet, risking again that their breasts would flee, and ran out of the room.

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But two feet were much faster than Maxime and Meg, who, to protect their guilty, were much more distracted by keeping their breasts in form, almost crawled. The expression of fear on their faces was impressing, so everybody who stood in their way jumped aside to let them pass. Their moths hanging open, they screamed "nooooooooooooo," slowly. But as already mentioned, Christine was faster. She ran, her look-through-dress half open, showing her underwear, as fast as she could. Her big eyes were wide in anticipation when she reached the Hall.

"Raoul!"

The man dressed in black looked up to her. She tood on the stairs, breathing heavily. Her smile told him something unwanted was going to happen. She quickly brought her hair back to what it had been before she ran and sighed. "Raoul," she whispered again and came closer. "Raoul," she repeated and a cleaner who was just working on the other stairs rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me? Do I know you?" He swayed his had and frowned.

"But don't you know me?"

"No," he said and stepped back. "I don't. Should I?"

"Well, we played together when we were little."

"Ah," he didn't remember, "good."

"But it doesn't matter because I have changed." She waggled her breasts and touched her hair. "I am much better now. Much more interesting." But then she remembered the virgin-thing she had practiced in front of her mirror (the Phantom had watched her and felt the urge to vomit). She immediately changed the expression on her face to that of a lamb. "But still untouched," she breathed.

Raoul frowned again. Christine's eyes began to look like a overfloating pail. Her lower lip trembled a second later. "Aren't you attracted by me?"

"Well, what was your name again?"

She cried out loud and fell to the ground. "I love you, Raoul, don't you see it?" She touched his feet, after which he immediately stepped back again. He was helpless and didn't know how to react. Instead of sticking to her virgin-image, Christine waggled her butt through the air. "I'm attractive," she screamed, "and now you have to begin to drool after me!"

Raoul scratched his head. "Madame," he began to speak, but paused again. He was interrupted by two breathless ballerinas running down the stairs. One of them stopped.

"Darn it," she said loudly, "we're too late. She already spoiled any left career possibilities." Meg nodded, "…if she ever had any."

Raoul couldn't decide who of them had bigger breasts and looked away, slightly blushing. "Ladies?"

"Excuse us, Monsieur Le Vicomte, it's just that she didn't take her medicine this morning," Maxime said and came closer.

Meg sat down next to the crying Christine on the ground and touched her trembling shoulder. "Chris, let's go, there's no sense in that," she whispered. Meanwhile, Maxime stared at Raoul, her mouth hanging open.

"I caaaaahn't," Christine kept on crying, "he doesn't get it! I love you!"

"Yes, it's okay," Meg tried to calm her down, "let's go upstairs and I'll make you a while chocolate. Okay?"

"Nooooh, I have to be slim for my dreamboy!" She looked up as if to expect him to agree. But he didn't move, so she stood up. "Well, if he wants me to be fat, I'll just eat!" She sighed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want you to be anything. Just leave me alone, please." He said it so friendly that Maxime smiled. 'He's not mean at all,' she thought.

Christine cried on, turning away and running upstairs. Meg and Maxime excused once more and left, too. The cleaner giggled.

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Raoul sat down on a chair and waited for Madame to come down. He was impatient to see her again, having dreamt of her the whole night how she lay in his arms and whispered his name, again and again. He remembered every detail of the night. Madame's footsteps tore him out of his day-dreams. He quickly stood up, his eyes shining. "Good evening, Madame," he whispered and took her hand to breathe a kiss on it. "I hope you had a pleasant day so far," he said and smiled.

She nodded. "There was only a ballerina with a nervous collapse," she said and felt how his fingers caressed hers. She withdrew her hand and turned to leave. "Let us go," she said, her voice trembling.

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The Phantom went back down to his catacombs. He had watched both of the scenes and felt the urge to vomit again. The dramatic hurt his eyes, ears and brain. His knees trembled in disgust. 'Are there no people left with intelligence?', he wondered and shook his head. 'God, help me.'

Having reached his lair, he screamed a girl-scream into the darkness. Christine was sitting on his bed, combing her hair, wiping her eyes and sobbing. "Erik," she called for him when she saw him, "come here, my lover." A shiver ran down his spine. 'God, NO.' But he came closer, slowly, as if not to scare the tiger. "Come closer," she whispered, ripped off her dress and revealed to him that she was, this time, _not_ wearing underwear. He immediately rose his hand to his eyes. "Christine," he said reproachfully, "you didn't dress very well."

"But I wanted to surprise you," she said in a sexy-voice. The Phantom dared to look at her. "Please, what's the matter? Can't you just leave?"  
"But don't you want me to sing for you?"

"I found somebody else to sing for me."

"Who is it?"

"None of your business."

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Maxime got undressed to sit down in the bathtub. "Torture her, Torture her slowly, so that she'll never come back," she sang, "torture her, torture her sweetly," she sang on and on.

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"Anyway, take me." Christine groaned. "Please."

"Leave," he gave back, "NOW."

"But Erik –"

"I told you to leave," he screamed, "now!"

She didn't move. "Leave, you bloody –"

"Erik, don't you use that word for me! I am your lover!"

"Not a virgin anymore?"  
"Never wanted to be one."  
"Ah," he sighed, "now go!" His angry eyes glared at her. "NOW!"

She didn't move. He hit her in the face. "LEAVE," he screamed again. She made him aggressive, so aggressive that he forgot all his manners. She began to cry again.

"I'll come back, I promise, when your mood is degenerated again!" She left.

'God, please don't,' he thought, sitting down on his bed. 'I have to think something up.' Then, the picture of Madame Giry and Raoul came back to his mind. An evil smirk escaped his lips.

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"Life is so unfair!" Christine ate more hot chocolate and cried, her face in a deep red.

"Indeed," Meg said and gave her a spoon so that she didn't have to eat it with her fingers. "Why don't you sleep a little?"

"I wanna talk to my mommy!"

"But Chris, she's not here."

"Where is she?", she pouted.

"She's – out."

"Where?"

'Darn,' Meg thought, 'if I tell her she's with Raoul, she'll smash her head against the wall. Hey. Why not tell her?' But then, the social part of her character alarmed her. 'You can't make her attempt suicide. That's not fair. Wait. Actually, for all the other people in this world, it _is_ fair –' Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud moan. "Tell me!", Christine urged.

"She is out, buying pointes."

"This late? It's already dark."

"Well, yes. That's what she told me."

"Oh. Cool." Christine grabbed the spoon and ate more chocolate. "Well. Tomorrow, I'll go back down to him. I'm so super sexy, he will drool." 'Yeah,' Meg thought, 'why don't you go and annoy him instead of me?'

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"Let us talk about the Opera," Madame said and laid the spoon aside. "It is a very important matter for both of us. Much more important than the matter "me" is," she added and drank more water.

"Well, I planned on making the ballet the character of this Opera. We don't really have good singers anymore. Let us push the ballet forward." He saw her eyes shining. "You like that idea?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, as short as her mother had taught her to reply to men.

His hand came closer and closer to hers on the table, the longer they sat there. Madame didn't think about his hand anymore. She wanted to concentrate on the matter. "So, the ballet?"

"Yes," he remembered what he had said, "the ballet. I saw you and I have to admit you are a very strict and good teacher."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." She drank more water, nervous again because his hand came closer for another inch. But he used the chance and touched her hand. She coughed loudly, her face turning red. "Are you okay?" he asked alarmed.

She just nodded her head and kept on coughing. "Yes," she pressed out of her mouth and calmed down. His hand still placed on hers, his fingers started to caress hers again. She looked at him. "Monsieur, please," she said. "We need to stop talking about me."

"Why?"

"Because you are a Vicomte and I am a ballet teacher. There is no way for us to ever …"

"Ever what? The only thing I want is to talk to you."

"Then why is your hand on mine?"

"You don't want it?"

"That's not what I said – but –"

"Well, why should it be wrong, then?"

"Because both of us have responsibilities. The Opera, for example," she went on, "It is a very important part of my life."

"So will I be."

She frowned. "Monsieur, please," her hand began to tremble, "you scare me."

"Why?"

"Because you are the first man in years to touch me at all."

"Then let it be."

"I can't"

"We'll see," he said, again self-certain.

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**:Author's Note:** So, what do you think? Leave a review. I like constructive criticism.

**:Thanks to: Queen-Chick, Meg Giry, skylinechick07 (especially for reading a story she has actually no clue about), and last but of course not least MadameGiryMiranda:**


	6. Christine's Song

**A/N:** Okay, sry for having kept you waiting, but school kind of sucks. So, here's another chapter, I'm afraid it's only this songtext. Imagine POTO's "Think of Me," and enjoy. This weekend, I 888PROMISE888 there'll be my seventh chapter.

**Claimer:** Maxime belongs to me! HAHAH! You might borrow her. But this songtext is mine! Don't steal, please.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO, neither did I write the original songtext. I only used it.

**Thanks to:** All my reviewers, especially for Incapability for helping me out with this text a little. She wrote Maxime's parts with me.

Be patient! Next chapter will come! 888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

**888Far Cry888**

**Chapter 6 – Christine's Song**

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(MAXIME)

Torture her ... torture her slowly,

So I can hear her shriek!

Don't hesitate to hurt her badly,

'Cause she's such a freak

Late at night, when she's asleep I think

'My God, if only she would die!'

But I'm sure one happy day

Dead at my feet she'll lie!

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(ERIK)

We always said how we were in love

And oh, her dress was half see-through

But, God, then she started talking -

Nobody ever sewed her mouth!

Maybe she slips and breaks her neck-

Or so…

Maybe the vacuum in her head

Will blow…

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(MAXIME)  
Torture her ... torture her slowly,

So I can hear her shriek!

Don't hesitate to hurt her badly,

'Cause she's such a freak

Late at night, when she's asleep I think

'My God, if only she would die!'

But I'm sure one happy day

Dead at my feet she'll lie!

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(ERIK)  
I agree,

I fiercly do.

OH YES!

Long ago,

It seems so long ago,

How silent and wrecked

She was!

Thank god

I don't remember her

Otherwise I'd be

Dead by now  
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(MAXIME AND ERIK)  
Torture her ... torture her slowly,

So I can hear her shriek!

Don't hesitate to hurt her badly,

'Cause she's such a freak

Late at night, when she's asleep I think

'My God, if only she would die!'

But I'm sure one happy day

Dead at my feet she'll lie!


	7. The Letter

**:A/N: **So, I'm finally back on this one. Who would have thought? Please enjoy. I decided to add the "drama" thing I always described in my summaries, so, just to let you know: I wanted to make this an excellent combination of drama and comedy. God knows whether it'll be good. Or you!

**:Disclaimer: **I don't own POTO.

**:Claimer: **Maxime (I like her more and more!) and "Christine's Song" do belong to me. Okay, "Christine's Song" partly belongs to Incapability. I admit it. Incapa, are you willing to share?

**:Summary: **When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. Christine pouts. Madame is confused. C. gets on Erik's nerves. How he tries to get rid of her. (Drama/Parody) (Raoul/Antoinette)

**:Thanks to:** Meg Giry, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Madame Van Tassel and Mel for reviewing chapter 6 and encouraging me to write on.

_**(Still watching out for any betareader who is so nice to betaread my chapters.):**_

**Chapter 7: The letter: **

Raoul sat down on a chair and put his fingers on his mouth, sinking deeply into thoughts. In his other hand, he crushed a piece of written paper. The sound of the crinkling paper rushed sharply through the air and joined the aura of agony Raoul was feeling. He furrowed his brow absent-mindedly, the hand on his lips trembling.

The evening had been very pleasurable. He had even wanted to spend the night with Mme. Giry. But knowing she would shy at this overhasty behavior, he had decided to leave her, his heart crying for a touch of hers. He still remembered every strand of hair that fell out of her loose bun, palavering her cheekbones. Her hands had caressed the tablecloth all the time, causing him to wish he had the possibility to become this tablecloth and enjoy her soft fingers.

These thoughts couldn't push away the fear he felt in these minutes, how angry he was. For the first time in his life, he felt like crying. Nothing in the world could take away the evening they had together, or so he had thought. Staring on the crushed letter in his hand, he knew that there was, indeed, something that could take away _her._

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Meg sat up in her bed. Touching her neck, she yawned. "Mom, you're a little late," she said, her voice drunk with sleep.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just had to kiss you good night." She leaned down to Meg and kissed her forehead. "You're such a good kid, and this night has been so..."

Meg nodded. "It's okay. Tell me everything about it tomorrow."  
"Anything new I should know about?"

"Yea," Meg yawned again, "Christine decided to go back down to him. He was pretty angry, slapped her in the face. Now she has a blue cheek. He said that he had threatened her enough and now he'd take up more drastic measures. Well." Meg laid down again. "Good night."

Mme. Giry had turned around to hide her face that was triumphed by fear. She knew very well what the Phantom was capable of. 'Never wake a sleeping lion,' she had told Christine so many times. 'Now he will come back with all his strength.' A shiver ran down her spine. 'He'll take it out on somebody.' And who that could possibly be was a question that made Mme. Giry leave Meg's room immediately.

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Maxime sat down next to Christine and handed her a wet cloth to her. "Here, put that on your cheek. I put some peppermint on it, it should help the pain."

"Thanks," Christine shrugged and took the cloth, carelessly holding it on her cheek. "He is so mean! But he'll realize it one day. "He'll love me again, just as I've always loved him!"

"Chris, please. Listen to me." 'Although I hate you, this has effects on the nights I spend with Erik, so get your butt out of the way,' she thought, bit her tongue and continued in a high-pitched, pseudo-caring voice. "This could have effects on the whole Opera. You don't want this, do you? You have an honest heart. You're not egoistic." 'I'll go to hell for lies like that,' she shook her head.

"But Maxime!"

"No 'but's! It's inappropriate. All people talk about you."

"Yes, they all say Raoul doesn't want me!" Christine cried on pouting, several tears running down her make-up covered cheeks.

Maxime smiled to herself, thinking again about this night. Right now, she knew, Raoul would die over this letter. "He wants you, believe me," she claimed, "he does."

"But how do you know?"

"I do."

"But he said he hated me!"  
"Nada. He didn't say that. And believe me, I have my contacts. I _know_ for sure he loves you." An evil smirk warped her lips.

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The next morning, Christine woke up, feeling fresh and relieved. 'Today's another day for Erik to come back to me.' She stood up and moved to the mirror. "Oh, Phantom, come back to me."  
On the other side of the mirror, Erik stood and had difficulties holding back an evil laugh. Invisible for Christine, he turned around and went back to his catacombs. 'Good Maxime,' he thought and heard his steps echo from the walls. 'Very good Maxime indeed.' Several seconds later, he heard Christine's hysterical scream.

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Staring at herself in the mirror, her right hand tried to hide what was on her cheek. But the letters in a deep red seemed to glow._ "SLUT"_

"There's a slut on my face!" She turned away.

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The Phantom reached his liar, walking around and lightening some candles. "Good morning, my love," he sang and sat down to Maxime. She opened her eyes and laughed. "I didn't sleep!"

"You didn't?"

"No. While you slept, I made something for you!"

"Really?" The Phantom was very surprised. No one had ever made anything for him!

Maxime stood up and reached under the bed, pulling out what seemed to be a portrait.

"Thanks! Is it your portrait?"

"No." Maxime turned the painting around. "It's Christine!"

Erik shut his eyes and turned away, a shriek escaping his throat. "No!"

"Well," Maxime reached under the beg again and pulled out darts, half made of wood, half of iron. "Look."

Erik opened an eye, laughing out loud. "Oh, my dear! I'll hang it right here!" He stood up, took the portrait and hung it at a wall near the bed. "We can always shoot darts when we have enough of each other!"  
"I hope that day will never come," Maxime touched her neck. "Never," she breathed seductively. Erik found it very hard to resist her two big friends who seemed to call him, hoping for him to come 'home', how Maxime loved to express her endless lust. Which could, to speak up honestly, cause Erik nausea when he was sober. 'Thank God I never stop drinking,' he thought, stepping back from the portrait, grabbing the darts and shooting one right after the other.

First, Maxime watched him, a smile on her face. But after twenty minutes, she laid back down on the bed, staring at Erik who was obviously having more fun with shooting darts at Christine than enjoying her. By then, Christine's face was full of black dots. 'At least one good thing about this,' she thought and sighed loudly to draw his attention back to her. This was impossible. Erik, the very intelligent, but small child had found another game to play with for hours.

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Raoul was still sitting on his chair, now looking out of the window straight on the Opera Populaire, which was now enlightened by the still sleepy sun. He hadn't slept all night, his face pale and his eyes lifeless. The hand still on his lips, the other crushing the letter he had by now read two hundred times, he shivered at the mere thought of going back to the Opera. He knew Erik would watch him. Although he didn't like it, no, "like" was the wrong word – he detested it -, he had to admit that Erik was a very clever man and he knew exactly how to get rid of what he didn't like: Christine. But obviously, he didn't care about the two people who would get hurt most of it.

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_**To be continued... starring:**_

_**Maxime with the big boobs**_

_**and**_

_**Meg with the big boobs,**_

_**only to be separated by the different shade of blond they colour their hair.**_


	8. Holy

**:A/N: **Okay, so here I go again, updated earlier since I can't wait to write more on my new pairing. The question is whom I like more: Raoul and Antoinette or rather Maxime and the Phantom? Oh, you may decide. Hihih. Thanks a lot!

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO.

**:Claimer:** I own Maxime! Yahoo! You might borrow her (I am kind, aren't I?), but ask me before, please. Wow, I never thought _I_ would ever be proud of a created character! She's gorgeous!

**:Summary: **When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. Christine pouts. Madame is confused. C. gets on Erik's nerves. How he tries to get rid of her. (Drama/Parody) (Raoul/Antoinette)

**:Thanks to: **Incapa, Madame Van Tassel, Meg Giry and Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel. _Madame Van Tassel, thanks for pointing out my mistakes. I actually got the "blonde" right but my grammar programme deleted it. What a shame. Well, thank you very much!_

_**(Still have no betareader. Guys, keep track to it!)**_

**: Chapter 7 : Holy : **

Christine moved away from the mirror, thoughts overwhelming her. The "SLUT" on her cheek convinced her she should indeed leave the Phantom alone, otherwise he'd make her look more ridiculous. 'Oh my,' she thought, 'he could take away my clothes and replace them with some that have more fabric!' A shiver ran down her spine thinking about this, so she decided to stare out of the window and sing a little until it would be time for breakfast. Her sad voice sounded through the room and while her eyes filled with tears, she brooded on how to spend her time differently than visiting the Phantom and eating ice cream, for exactly that made her clothes a little... too small for her. Then, a 'gorgeous' idea stroke her mind, she stood up immediately and ran out of the room.

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Mme. Giry had been watching the clock for the last twenty minutes, her hands trembling and sweating. She waited for Raoul to arrive. She felt something was going on. The Phantom had sung that night, a very rare event. Very rare. He likes to sing before doing evil things. Oh how well Madame remembered how he had first killed a man. It was years ago, it got his new hobby. Once in a while, a cleaner is found in the entrance area, ironically bathed with black roses. Ironically? Madame shivered at the thought of it, pushing it from her mind and standing up to go down and talk to him immediately when the door would open and a happy Vicomte would approach her.

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"Monsieur Le Vicomte," a man said und pulled open the door of Le Vicomte's carriage.

"Thanks," Raoul nodded and sat down. The door fell to and the carriage took up on its way to the Opera, carrying the saddest man the world had ever seen. But Raoul wasn't angry anymore. His eyes didn't glare with foolish fever anymore, his hands didn't crush poor paper. His heartbeat was strikingly slow and powerful. What a good actor he was. It would help him. He wasn't so foolish to ignore Erik's letter. He'd do nothing to provoke him any further. It was enough to ruin two lives. 'I'll do what he wants me to,' he thought, looking out of the window. The Opera came closer.

He had always wondered why he went on such a short way to the Opera. His brother always said, "you're a gentleman. Gentlemen always take a carriage. Always. You won't neglect this rule." 'I'll do what he wants me to,' he thought, looking out of the window. The Opera came closer. He had always wondered why he went on such a short way to the Opera. His brother always said, "you're a gentleman. Gentlemen always take a carriage. Always. You won't neglect this rule."

Oh, if _he_ knew what Raoul was going to do, which rules he would break. How his reputation would suffer. How his love, his heart would suffer. It was probably one of the biggest tragedies he himself had heard of. "We should write an Opera on this. Starring the Phantom," Raoul thought, listening to his own heartbeat, feeling how it cried for Antoinette's presence.

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"Look!"

Meg opened her eyes.  
"What is _this?"_

"It's an altar! What else? These are the candles." Christine approached the altar and pointed on the candles she had lightened. "Isn't this wonderful? I made this painting all by myself."

Meg stared at the table, full of candles and flowers, and in the middle of it, the horrible portrait of what was not clearly to be made out as Monsieur Le Vicomte.

"I'll pray!"

"What?" Meg was astonished. It was the most stupid idea she had ever heard. "You're not."  
"Oh yes." Christine nodded her head.

"Okay, Chris, this is enough. You scratched the word "SLUT" on your cheek and now you've made an altar for Le Vicomte? Are you insane?"

"No. I brought all candles Madame Giry could spare."  
"She gave you candles for this thing here?" Meg's eyes almost popped out, almost like her boobs.

"It's an altar, just for Le Vicomte, and she doesn't know yet."

"I could have bet she isn't that insane yet."  
"What do you mean?"

"Well, you kind of make it hard for people not to..."  
"He's such a cutie! Didn't I draw him well?"

"Yes."  
"I'll show him. Today."

"Oh my God. Please, don't!"  
"I will! I'm so proud!" She nodded her head.

Meg shook hers and wanted to run against a wall. Chris would, indeed, show the Vicomte. Definitely. 'GOD. This is the end of the Opera.'


	9. Holy, the Second

**:A/N:** Okay, so finally another chapter in which you'll find out some further things about Erik's letter. Eager to read it? Hah hah. Well, at least I hope you guys will have fun. I tried not to be too funny in this chapter, for I wanted to point out the tragedy. I promise next one will be funnier.

**:Summary:** When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. Christine pouts. Madame is confused. C. gets on Erik's nerves. How he tries to get rid of her. (Drama/Parody) (Raoul/Antoinette)

**:Disclaimer:** I do not own POTO. A tragedy itself.

**:Claimer:** She's mine, she's mine, and she's still mine! Yahoo! Maxime forever!

**:All previous chapters beta-read by Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel:**

_**:Special Thanks to Robika, Madame Van Tassel, Meg Giry and Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel:**_

****

**: Chapter 9 : Holy, the Second : **

When his feet touched the street in front of the Opera, a slight mist surrounded them. Self-confidently, they approached the Opera to get inside. The feet's owner, a so-called Le Vicomte, looked up to the Opera windows as if there was something suspicious he could possibly make out. Since there was nothing of that kind, he walked inside. Merely a slight shiver went down his spine, causing him to force a more calm appearance.

The Great Hall appeared empty in front of him. He sighed. 'At least neither Christine nor Antoinette are around yet,' he thought, taking the steps upstairs. He had feared one of them – or even worse, both – would have been there. A tragedy would have happened. Having to fulfill the duties the Phantom had inflicted, he wouldn't have had time to explain everything to Antoinette. And this was, just to his belief, very essential for him to survive this upcoming drama.

He needed to inform Antoinette, better before he met Christine. The Phantom had his eyes everywhere. That he knew. He was watching everything that dared to move without his acceptance. And he would see if Raoul didn't fulfill his duties. Raoul's sad eyes sought for Antoinette but couldn't find her. His mind ran in danger of over- thinking and a knocking pain began to form inside of his head. 'I have to find her. I just need to. If she misunderstands this, our young love will be dead. Dead forever. Never compete with women whose hearts had been broken, even if it was a long time ago. They don't trust anybody. Not even themselves.'

That moment, he didn't know he was completely right on all of those things. Madame had had a broken heart, and she didn't trust herself. Especially when it came to her private meetings with him.

"Monsieur Le Vicomte!" Madame's bright voice called for him. His eyes wide with surprise and joy, he turned around to see her running to him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's Erik," she whispered, taking his hand in fear and forgetting everything she had decided to do against this relationship. "I need to talk to you. He's planning something, something evil, we can never be sure –" Her cheeks ran red with excitement and Raoul felt how her fingers trembled. Inside of him, he felt his heart sink onto the carpet underneath his feet.

"I know."

"But how?"

Raoul looked around to foreclose that anybody was listening. "Is there someplace I can talk to you without him hearing us?"

Madame took his arm, slightly pulling him back down the stairs. They left the Opera to go out for what would be a very painful walk.

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Meg sat down next to Christine. "Chris, who's this?"  
"It's…um… Maxime. Can't you see that?"

"Uh-oh…"  
"What uh-oh? Isn't it great?"

Meg bent her head out of hope to make out Maxime better from a different ankle but failed. "Well," she floundered, "it's very… demanding to draw, isn't it?"

"I'm not having any difficulties with it. I thought about drawing her whole body, but it would have very few details. So I only want her face. I want every part of her beautiful face in it!"

"And why do you draw her?" Meg didn't understand this behaviour anymore, had she ever? At least it was worth a try.

"I want to put it right next to Raoul's painting."

"So what? You'll have a Maxime and Raoul altar?"  
"Yes! Isn't it great?"  
"But Chris, why Maxime and not … somebody else?"

"Like you?" Christine asked and took a different pencil. 'For God's sake,' Meg thought. "Well."

"Because she told me that Raoul loves me."

Meg raised her eyebrows, lost in something that was a mix of disgust and pity.

"She deserves appropriate exposure."

"Christine, she's not a fossil."

Christine's mouth fell open in shock. "Thank God she's not!" She stood up, pulling the painting close to her chest, dancing across the room and sang. "My lovely Maxime, thank God you're alive…"

Meg rolled her eyes, thinking about the safest way to immediately kill Christine. Then, she remembered, her boobs were in the way.

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"Erik, come back here." Maxime sighed, hoping he would, finally, turn away from the painting he had been shooting darts at for what seemed lifetimes.

"I can't. I'm thinking."

"Please don't do things you're not good at," Maxime giggled.

Erik turned around and glared at her. First, he thought about slapping her, but then his eyes caught the sight of her cleavage and he erased the idea. "They're out for a walk. He'll tell her." He scratched his head. "Do you understand? He's really telling her. Against all my advice."

"Why should he not? I mean, why should we break her heart either? Leave her thinking about him to be so brave and everything will turn out the way you want it to. We don't want her to be sad in a way that is too obvious, do we?"

Erik sat down on the bed and wondered whether he had taught her to be so intelligent or whether she had copied it from him. "Maxime, tell me, my love, how much is one times four?"

She leaned over and kissed him. "Six?" she giggled.

"Exactly," Erik nodded his head, laughing. "You're such a good girl. So we're going to let Mme. Giry find out about my letter?"

"Yes. Why not? She won't disturb Le Vicomte. Exactly the opposite is going to happen, I tell you." She kissed him. "She'll encourage him to do exactly what you want."

"Why should she?"

"Because she fears you. Isn't that obvious? How many times did you force her to do what you wanted?"

"Very often." Erik nodded his head again. "Yes. Let's leave her alone. She'll cope with my plans. She has to. Otherwise I'll never get rid of Christine."

"I wish that plan had been my idea."

"Well, sometimes the Phantom is prudent.'

"And passionate." She pulled him down to her and whispered into his ear.

He chuckled, kissing her neck and slowly undressing her. She giggled, too, and thought how nicely she had distracted him from his new game, shooting darts at Christine's painting. Maybe, he was indeed no kid anymore, but a man with desires.

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They stopped speaking when they were back in the Great Hall. Madame Giry closed her eyes and turned away from Raoul. She had been successful hiding her feelings so far, but she feared she wouldn't be any longer. What he had told her had cut her to the quick.

"I hope we will meet at midnight at my house," he touched her shoulder, "I promise I won't give up on you. It is the last thing on earth I would do."

Madame's hands hadn't stopped trembling and she knew they would for the next days, months, years. How long would this game go on, whereas it hadn't started yet but was painful already? She turned back to him, tears in her eyes.

"I know. You can't change his wishes. Again, he is very smart and knows what he wants. Do what he asked you to. Forget about me in those moments. Think of me only short time before midnight, when you know I'll be at your place, waiting for you. Waiting for what would be the only joyful moment of my day."

Raoul nodded his head. "Yes," he breathed, feeling his heart break."

"RAOUL!"

Both of them turned around in shock. Christine came running down the stairs. Madame and Raoul exchanged haggard looks, both of them fearing what would come.

Raoul smiled his brightest smile at her, pulling her towards him. "Christine," he breathed into her ear. Pain stroked him, his face got caught up in it, but Christine fortunately couldn't see it. But Madame was the one to see what was behind the theatre that would go on from now on and turned around to not see what would happen the next. She knew. When the moment of pain left Raoul again and he had himself under control, he kissed Christine on the lips.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**_To be continued..._ **

**_Starring..._ **

Maxime : The big boobed ballerina

Meg : Poor girl tortured by brat

Christine : Brat


	10. Wait

**: Author's Note:** Nothing to say. What a sad story.  
**: Disclaimer: **I don't own POTO. Don't sue!  
**:Claimer: **Maxime! My beauty! My gorgeous triumph over Meg! Heheh! Big-boobed ballerinas forever!  
**: Summary:** You should, indeed, know it by heart by now, huh? I won't give you any further pain with that.  
**:Beta-Reader:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel  
**:Thanks to all my reviewers:**

**:Far Cry:  
:Chapter 10: Wait:**

"Excuse me, please," Madame murmured and turned from them to leave. She could not stand the scene any longer. Raoul kissing another woman, even before he had kissed her – although her moral didn't allow her to, she trembled with jealousy and pity for her lover.

Raoul gave her a haggard look before she disappeared. 'Great,' he thought, feeling Christine's chest pressed against his, 'now I'm all alone with this.'

"Come with me, I want to show you something!" Christine exclaimed and kissed him again.

"Honey," Raoul said, not believing his ears, "what is it? Is it that urgent?"

"Come up to my room." She pointed to her cleavage and Raoul gulped. 'Is she going to get undressed? Oh God, please help, I won't stand this...' But as he had to obey the Phantom, he followed her up to her room.

When she closed the door behind them, she sat down on his bed and opened a button of her dress. Raoul felt a shiver run down his spine. 'No way,' he thought. And although he didn't want to, his mouth expressed exactly the same emotion. "Uh-oh..."

Christine patted the place right next to her on the bed and smiled to encourage him to come closer. "So... my dear..." He slowly approached her, telling himself it was absolutely necessary and there was nothing that could be reason enough to ignore the Phantom's wishes.

"Christine, my dear," he said, "don't you want to wait?"

"With what?"

"Well... with this." He pointed on the loose button. "This is... some kind of fast for me." He frowned to underline his argument. 'Hopefully she'll hate me for this,' he prayed and couldn't wait to leave the room only to write back to Erik that he had been mistaken.

"Oh Raoul," she hugged him enthusiastically, "how honest of you! You are so different! Erik always wanted to ... but you're the first to say no to me with such a good reason! How right I am to love you!"

Raoul rolled his eyes and was glad she couldn't see it. Then, he patted her shoulder and said, "Yes, that is right. I think sex before marriage is very wrong."

"Oh Raoul!" She energetically pushed him back and smiled at him from one ear to the other. "Is this what you want to wait for?"

His eyes almost popped out hearing that. A huge knot formed in his throat, making it impossible for him to object. Thus being a good reason for Christine to kiss him again, she leaned over and pressed her wet lips on his. Deep inside of him, he cried and cried for doing this. On one hand, the word "disgusting" merely described her… on the other hand… he didn't love her and he felt like he was betraying his true love. But nothing could compete with the Phantom's will.

When he had almost the feeling that she did not want to wait until marriage with undressing him, his eyes found what made him almost blind.

"What is this?" he asked desperately, hoping that it was a hallucination.

"Oh, do you like it?" She stopped licking half his face with her wet dog-tongue and looked up. "It's an altar. The person on the right is you, and the one on the left is Maxime."

"Maxime, right? So why did you ... draw her holding a dove and surrounded by ..."

"Angels. Those are angels."

Raoul wiped his face with a tissue and frowned. "So, what do they mean?"

"Don't you get it?"

"Is she... some kind of goddess?"

"Yes!" Christine's eyes began to shine with happiness. "She is! She made me hope for your love, the best decision ever!"

"Right."

"I first drew only her face, but then I decided it would be better to collect different symbols of peace around her." She scratched her head, remembering how many hours she had spent cleaning the "SLUT" off her face. Until that day, she had no clue it had been Maxime.  
"Let's come back to more important matters." She turned around and began to lick his face again.

He rolled his eyes, feeling the wet covering his cheek. He would spend hours taking a bath before he'd be able to face Mme. Giry again.

"So you don't think we should wait, huh?" he tried to convince her.

"Why? We'll be married, won't we?"  
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Madame Giry knocked on Maxime's door. Since nobody answered, she opened it and stood there in complete shock about what her eyes were seeing.

"Maxime!"

"Yes?" her innocent voice gave back.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"What is the cook doing in your bed then?"

The cook desperately tried to get a piece of blanket to hide what was, indeed, not hidden at all. It rather seemed as if he wanted every atom in the room to see what he had. But Maxime didn't care about the situation at all.

Mme. Giry frowned and felt vexed by the situation. "Didn't I tell you that no guests were allowed in the Opera?"

"What about Christine then?"

Madame froze. 'How does she know about it? Why -? What does this all mean?' She slowly turned around and closed the door behind her. While walking of, shameful noises accompanied her.  
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"Christine! Stop it!" Raoul violently pushed her hand away. "This is not appropriate before marriage. You know that I am a very strict catholic!" He sounded honestly angry.

"Okay," she agreed and closed all her buttons. "But how very good that I made an altar for us! Let's kneel down in front of it and pray!"

"I can't pray to myself." Raoul rather wanted to smash his head against a wall, furthermore attempt suicide right away. The only thing that kept him with Christine was that he would see Madame that night. So they stood up and knelt down in front of the table.

"Dear Maxime," Christine began and Raoul felt he wouldn't be able to stand it.

"Please, could we pray to God?"

"Alright."

And so they prayed, although both of them had different intentions. Raoul wished a bird to fly into the room and eat Christine's eyes whereas she wished to be married right away. He honestly didn't know how to get out of the marriage topic. Or moreover, how to get out of the Christine topic. 'Hopefully she'll get enough of me by time,' he prayed and promised to be good, truly good, and never ever lie again or spend any money on things that weren't necessary.  
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**to be continued...  
... starring: Maxime's peace dove**


	11. Heaven

**:Author's Note:** Here is my next chapter. Actually, I shouldn't be writing this but lean biology, on the other hand: It only takes half an hour and is a load of fun. Then, I rethink it all the time, smiling about what you will say. Have fun.

I let myself be inspired by "She Walks In Beauty" by Sissel. Just to get you informed. Heheh.

**:Disclaimer:** It's vexing me, but I don't own POTO.

**:Claimer:** Yes, you guessed right. She's mine. Don't steal Maxime. She'll be in a sequel, but I won't say more.

**:Thanks to:** All my reviewers, which would be Meg Giry, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, and, of course last but not least at all, Robika! Besides, Incapability, no one backed off! Actually, I'd love to write a One-Shot with you dancing that thing in it, praising my said-to-be skills! Smile! Smile!

**:Beta-Reader:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

_This chapter belongs to only Raoul and his Antoinette._

**:Far Cry:**

**:Chapter 11 : Heaven:**

When Madame's wall clock took heart to ring half past ten, a slight shiver ran down her spine and her pupils widened. 'It's time,' her heart cried, 'it's time.' Her fingers ran over the brooch placed before her on the table. She sat there, finally making a keen decision, which could change a lot of things in her life. It could show her what she had missed the years before. It could make all her longings more demanding. She took the brooch and opened it. She swore to herself, if she pricked her finger with it, and the spicule was still sharp enough, she would no longer resist to her feelings. If the brooch was still young, her heart would be, too. Her fingers trembled and she hoped she wouldn't bleed, feeling that the desire to be with him grew bigger and bigger with every breath. It would be the death for her safeness, the safeness of her heart.

The spicule reflected the light of the candles around her. It shone so bright it almost hurt her eyes. 'This is a miracle,' she thought, 'just think the tale to its end.' And so, Madame Antoinette Giry, the ballet mistress of the Opera Populaire, pricked herself. The end of the tale, which was easily to be made out, was that Madame would certainly have to go and see him that night: The small wound was unwilling to stop bleeding at all.

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Raoul took off his cloak and sat down on his setee. He couldn't believe what this day had been like so far. 'It was a huge chaos, dominated by Christine's see-through, too tight clothes.' He felt he would not be able to stand it, but as his page entered the room, announcing a certain Madame's visit, he yet felt strong. The page stepped back and Madame's steps echoed.

His eyes flickered with elation, seeing her stepping closer. Immediately, he stood up and touched her hand. It felt soft and she diffidently returned his smile.

"Good evening," Raoul whispered, forgetting almost everything around him. "Or shall I rather say good night?"

She sat down on the setee, watching him looking at her. Warmth crept up in her chest, filling her with desire.

"Shall I -?"

"Please sit down," she said patiently, yet as if she wouldn't allow any objection. He did so. "I brought something with me." Suddenly, he hadn't realised she had had it in her hands, she pointed at a book. "These are poems."

"Would you read them out to me?", he asked, watching her beautifully formed lips speaking. "Please. I couldn't stand reading them without hearing your voice in my head."

She shyly smiled, opening the book with her slim fingers. The pages seemed to float under her fingers as she sought the right page. "It's my favourite poem," she whispered. Then, she began to read it out and her voice filled the room with its warmth and love, making him feel as if he wasn't on earth anymore. After some poems, both of them forgot everything around them. He only stared at her lips, forming those beautifully words, gentle, shy, yet knowing what they were doing. He ran a finger across his lips, imagining their lips would meet and melt together to never part again.

She didn't notice it, lost in her poems about love, feeling that she breathed one strong emotion to him after another. There certainly was magic between them, making both their chests feel heavy and weak.

An hour passed and she was still reading them out to him. By now, the page had to get more candles. None of them noticed. Raoul was too caught up with her beauty, and Madame too shy to let anything close to her but their intimate moment.

Suddenly, the pain in Raoul's chest grew bigger and he felt he wouldn't resist the burning desire. He would bust. He leaned over and she looked up, her eyes big with surprise. She leaned back against the setee, now practically laid in front of him. He lifted himself above her, now looking her into the eyes.

Her breath was slow and deep, her eyes sparkling with hope mixed with fear. He touched her cheek, whispering words of love, touching her ear and her neck. She closed her eyes, feeling his warm and soft fingers carressing her. When she opened them again, his eyes locked hers and let her forget any worries about whether the situation was appropriate or not. He knew he had caught her, he had her where he had wanted her, letting him finally, finally show his love to her. His face came closer and she closed her eyes, feeling her heart beat fast. When their lips touched, they seemed to have left the earth to go to a more beautiful place. Heaven.

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	12. Unfaithful

**:A/N:** Yes, I know, I know! _But_ I thought I'd make this your Christmas present and just write on for you guys! For I'll have lots of time on my hands for the next two weeks. Take care, you'll meet a load of One-Shots about Mme Giry and Erik!

Besides, anybody wants another Raoul – Antoinette fic?

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO. What – a – shame.

**:Claimer:** Maxime as well as the cook are mine. Don't try to steal them. I won't give them for anybody to borrow. No way. Heheh.

:Thanks to Robika, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Zidler's Strawberry (which actually sounds to me like Hitler's Strawberry, but never mind tee hee), Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz, and last but not least at all Meg Giry:

**:Beta-Read:** by Lady-Miranda-Van Tassel

**Far Cry:**

**: Chapter 12 : Unfaithful:**

Madame Giry woke up in a dark room, feeling the person's heat lying next to her who had eventually put his arms around her. Her heart almost stopped beating at the mere thought of what had happened. But as soon as she remembered the joyful facets of the night, her breathing slowed back down and she sighed.

Finally, after years of suffering from not being looked at, not being touched, hugged, honestly smiled at, she was in his bed, in the middle of the night – left alone she was feeling good. Satisfied, she slowly got out of bed, clearly trying to avoid waking him up. The room was so dark she could barely see where she was going, but as she stepped with her bare feet on her dress, she knew she'd find the way outside.

In the hall, Raoul's servant nodded to her and opened the door. "Shall I call for a carriage?" he asked.

"No, thank you. The Opera isn't too far away. Good night."

"Good night, Madame."

As she stepped outside, she breathed in the nippy air and her nose refused to smell the dirt in the streets. She only felt the good in the world, the beauty, as if there had never been anything to disturb her peace.

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"Where have you been?" Erik was sitting on his bed, shooting darts at Christine's painting with an expression which revealed proximately that he was angry… very angry.

"Nowhere," Maxime lied and sat down next to him.

"I can smell him." Erik closed his eyes, feeling the pain clutching his heart. "You've been with another man."

"I haven't," she said again.

"He smells like chicken."

'He most definitely is a chicken from what he planned on doing with me tonight. Didn't even know how to spell what _I_ wanted to do.' Maxime shook her head. "It's just the smell of my dinner. We had chicken today. So, are we going to make some plans?"

"About what?" He denied settling for her lies. "How to create more lies so that I'll make _my_plans on dealing with you?" His voice was suddenly much colder, as if he had changed into a different person. His eyes steaming with anger, he trembled. "And I trusted you! Weren't I enough for you?"

"But Erik, there was nothing!"

He stood up. "How dare you lie to me? Didn't I give you my unconditioned love? I thought we'd be a couple!"

"We are!"

"Lovers are NOT unfaithful!" He was half screaming, half crying and strongly gesturing. "You darn it did it with another man who smells like chicken! Couldn't you at least pick somebody worthy of it?" Although Maxime was used to his emotional breakdowns, this was too much for her nerves. She had strong ones, for she had learned it was only wise to stay far away from Erik while he was screaming, but since he was screaming at _her_ this time, she felt her fingers tremble.

"Erik, I-"

He slapped her.

"Don't call me that! My name's no longer to be said by your tongue! Unworthy you are! Unfaithful! How dreadful this day is, how much pain you caused me – leave! And if I ever again see you with another man, oh, you shall burn!" The last words he said so loudly, so clearly, that Maxime already felt the fire's heat that would kill her. She stood up, turned around and left.

Some moments later, Erik couldn't hear her steps anymore and sat back down on his bed, still breathing heavily. He had just threatened the women he loved – and God, the old Erik would came back to daylight.

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Meg Giry sat up in bed. A dream had haunted her so badly she had died in her dream. Her heart beating hard against her chest, she touched her forehead and felt the sweat pearls. 'This can't go on any further. I can't be with the Vicomte. He loves my mother. How wicked this is. She's not even his age.'

But things were the way they were, and apparently, the big-breasted, blonde ballerina had developed honest feelings for Raoul. These feelings destroyed her, made her stop eating, stop sleeping properly, although her dance improved. 'There is no way for me to show my feelings. I don't want to hurt Mama.' Yes, Mama… Mama… Mama…

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The next morning, Christine sat in front of her mirror, combing her almost plastic-looking locks and smiling brightly at her face. 'I'm a princess, I'm a princess.' Every human being in the world knew she was one, for a princess of cruel nerve-killing skills. Suddenly, a thought stroked her mind. Extremely astonished, she stood up immediately, causing her make-up table to shake, and her mouth fell open.

"My boobs are too small! That is why he didn't want me!"

And so she decided to go down and see the Phantom. He was always able to help her. Maybe he'd even make her boobs a little bigger.

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_To be continued…._

…_starring the insane-driving Chris. For God's sake._

**:A/N: **For those who are wondering why this isn't funny anymore, I decided to make the drama a little more.. sad. I feel for Meg, and for Madame – and for Erik. I hope you're not too disappointed.


	13. The AntiHeros

**:A/N:** Merry Christmas! Please tell me honestly what you think about this chapter.

**:Disclaimer:** Over and over again this drill. I don't own POTO. Are we done now?

**:Claimer:** MY Maxime! MY cook!

**:Beta-Reader:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel This chapter is not beta-read, I repeat. My beta is probably off to holidays. I'll repost the beta-read version.

:Thanks to Zidler's Strawberry (don't take my jokes so seriously! P), Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Meg Giry and Robika:

**:Far Cry:**

**: Chapter 13 : The Anti-heros:**

Didn't she want to rise high? Didn't she have aims to fight for, to kill for, to die for? Didn't she always feel she'd give everything for being la Phantomess? Maxime nodded her head, sobbing about the dream bubbles which were about to vanish. She pulled the pillow closer to her heart. Was she the heroine who became the anti-heroine? The looser, the common failure, the anti-role-model? What would she tell her children which she wouldn't have anyway one day – that their mother failed to fulfill her dreams because of a _man_? No! How right the Phantom had been – how unworthy she was!

Tears dropped on the pillow while she stared into the dark, wishing she had never been born. Left alone she had betrayed him with another man, how did she intrinstically dare to make him angry at all? Had she forgotten what he was capable of? Oh how she hated herself! The anti-heroine sobbed again and turned to the wall, freezing. 'I messed up.' And indeed, she did.

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At about the same time, Christine sat up in bed to stare once again at Raoul's painting. She had postponed to visit the Phantom until a day later, for she had found something much more interesting to do: Fight for what she thought was love.

Although Christine was a rather pitiful character, she had her hopes and dreams, too. Who would have thought. There she was, dreaming of a marriage to somebody who didn't love her – not even liked her at all, thinking they'd make a lovely couple.

'Maybe he'll finally dare to ask me to marry him in a couple of days. He simply must remember me!' Her memory of him was amazingly strong, she still knew what he had smelled like as a child. It was a mixed smell, full of milk and honey. These days, he smelled different – the innocent smell was gone, or so she thought. 'And if he doesn't ask me, I'll wait. Wait until the sun stops shining!' When she lay back down on the bed, she did not rethink her decision, forgetting completely that the sun stopped shining every evening when it got darker and darker, and when would come what most people called 'night'.

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Meg Giry sat down on her desk, carefully unpacking her ink bottle. Then, her lank, trembling fingers picked up a quill that had fallen to the ground while she was nervously hushing around, trying to find a solution to her problems. And she had found a solution. Thus not being very rational, it would surely calm her aching heart, and that was what a solution was supposed to do. It would help her sleep again.

Slowly unfolding the paper on the desk, she thought about which words to use to express her feelings. They needed to be carefully picked, thought about for minutes, otherwise the letter wouldn't be satisfying enough. Neither for the writer, nor for the reader.

But how to start a love letter? She had never written one. She had never even felt those feelings – and for a split of a second, she almost thought somebody could have cursed her. Soon, she was successful calming herself down. The letter had already taken enough of her time, she would start writing it. Nothing would stop her.

When minutes later what had seemed like ages her mother knocked on the door, she winced. Mme Giry entered the room, closing the door behind her.

"Mother," Meg pressed through half-closed lips, "I didn't know you were out." Her shaking finger pointed at her mother's cloak.

"I'm back already."

"Where have you been?"

"None of your business," her mother's voice coldly snapped back. "I would have told you if it mattered, apparently, you didn't need to know. The reason for my coming here at such a late hour is that I wanted to remind you of your duties."

"Which would be…?"

"Going to bed early. Just to name one of them." With that, her mother left the room.

Astonished, Meg stared at her fingers. Her mother still treated her like a small child from time to time, although it had seemed to get better. Obviously, her assuming this development was wrong. 'How would she think of me if she knew about my feelings?' With that, Meg decided to remain silent about them, impressed by what had just happened. Her mother most certainly would not understand and simply suggest to dig away those childish feelings. Meg could hear her saying that.

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Antoinette slowly put her cloak on a chair. It had been a long evening full of mixed emotions, leaving her behind alone. She hadn't wanted Raoul to convince her everything would be all right. On their second night together, she simply could no longer push away how irresponsibly they acted. And her overwhelmed mind couldn't keep its mouth shut. 'Why did I spoil everything by talking about it? Why?'

Not understanding herself anymore, she got undressed to finally get to bed. Yes, it was irresponsible. Their love was forbidden, firstly by the Phantom, and secondly by all good manners. Since he was Le Vicomte, there would be no possible future for them together.

"_Raoul, we need to talk."_

"_About what?"_

"_We can't stay together. I will not come back tomorrow. We need to stop this. Your love frightens me off. It destroys everything I built up in the last years, left alone what it does to Erik."_

"_Who's Erik?"_

"_Forget about it. I won't come back, did you hear me? I don't want you to linger around me. I simply can't stand this. We need to save the Opera, and as soon as Erik finds out that our love puts your relationship to Christine in danger, we're mush."_

He had nodded. Simply nodded. Simply? 'Did it take him a lot to react like that?' Antoinette shook her head, not knowing how to deal with the situation. 'Was that the right decision?' Wiping away the tears that rolled down her face, deep inside of her she knew it was not right. She _knew_ that love was the only path she wanted to wander on, to dance on, to roll on. But on the other hand, her head controlled her and apparently, it had won again. It always won. 'I hate myself for what I did. I experienced real love for the first time, and what did I do to my lover?'

She wanted to save them. Both of them. And all of them. The risks were high, and she didn't dare to play any further games with Erik. She's had enough of games. Her head would controll her, she'd let it be. It was bad she had given in. She wouldn't do it again.

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Erik kept shooting darts at a painting that was not Christine's. His hands were capable of painting, too, and so he had painted Maxime.

Words ran though his head.

Betrayed lover.

Unfaithful.

Lover.

Betrayed.

Hated.

Loved.

Silent.

Dead.

Screaming.

Hate.

Heat.

Swallow her.

Punish.

Blood.

He was a deamon, deep inside, and he'd always be. There was no sense in trusting people, for they all betrayed him. And especially Maxime, she who he wanted to make famous, powerfull, his wife, she had betrayed him most! Aren't those who love you the most capable people of hurting you?

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"Can I bring you something?"

"Yes. A tea maybe." Raoul nodded, his mind far away. "A tea. Black."

He had taken her words seriously and would follow her 'instructions' just the way she wanted him to. If that was the only way he could 'save' her, make her happy, he'd do it. He'd take this as a man, strong, willing to tear his feelings apart for somebody else.

When he was drinking his cup of tea some minutes later, he couldn't stop the tears dropping out of the corners of his eyes.

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_And so,_

_Another day at the Opera_

_Brought nothing but tears_

_The only hero was Raoul, so strong,_

_But all the others_

_Gave in their mistakes_

_And so,_

_Another day at the Opera_

_Passed._

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	14. Paris At Night

**:A/N:** Good morning, dear readers! So, here are the good news: I know exactly how this is going to end, and I tell you, you'll LOVE it. Simply read on I promise next chapters will be on soon, 15 is already… ready.

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO.

**:Claimer: **My Maxime, my Tatjana, my cook. You are allowed to steal the cook, but leave me the others!

**:beta-read by:** L-M-V-T

**:Thanks to Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Meg Giry, Robika, Madame Van Tassel and Incapability (for her great support and listening to my huge theories about what the heck to do with Christine):**

**:Far Cry:**

**: Chapter 14 : Paris At Night:**

_**---For Raoul---**_

He slowly sat down on the chair, his eyes fixed on Antoinette's gracful figure. His head leaned to his right as if he'd hear more of her singing voice this way and his eyebrows formed a line of pure concentration. Nothing else reached Raoul that moment. He was in her class, watching her instructing the girls. There was no Paris, there were no other people.

He didn't hear the pointe noises on the wooden floor, didn't see the sun shining through the big windows of the Opera's biggest rehearsal room. He felt like there was no need for him to ever go someplace else. Desperately, he hoped for her to turn around, run towards him and kiss him. He'd just feel her in his arms again and never let go. But she wouldn't, and he knew it.

That morning, he had recieved a letter from her inviting him to join them for the next class:

_Dear Monsieur Le Vicomte,_

_I daresay that I would be honestly pleased if you gave me the honor of coming to today's classes. We will rehearse a piece that will have its Premiere soon, and I hope you are just as excited as I am._

_Greetings,_

_Mme Giry_

She didn't want to get people suspicious about them not talking anymore, and so she would again put them into torture. He felt his heart wincing at the bare thought of her letter. Yes, it had hurt him very much to feel the cold of her words, so lost of any passion. Lost of the passion she had exclaimed days ago, entering the room, filling it with her smell.

"Girls, what does that turnout look like? How are you expecting hundrets of people looking at your dance, paying lots of money for this turnout?" She stepped next to Maxime, pushing her feet to a proper 180°. "THIS is what you have to dance like, no matter in what position!"

"But Madame, wouldn't it be-", Meg raised her voice. Obviously, Madame Giry didn't like people to object.

"It is the way it has to be," she said, her voice cold as ice. She stepped closer to her daughter, not lowering her voice at all. "Do you think Monsieur Le Vicomte will let you dance on his stage with that sloppy thing you call your ability?"

Raoul immediately froze and closed his eyes. The mere fact that she had spoken his name was already causing him goosebumbs, but adding to this sensation she had pronounced his name for the first time that day. And it was already the fourth class he was watching. He swallowed her voice deep into him as if to keep it until death, fearing it could have been the last time she had pronounced his name with her beautiful lips. How his chest ached!

After some seconds of silence, Raoul opened his eyes and found himself stared at by all present students.

"Monsieur?" Meg said, her eyes shining with hope. Raoul looked at Mme Giry to nod at her, but saw that she stared at her own feet.

Madame turned back. "Don't disturb class with such comments, daughter," she said, giving Meg an evil and angry look. "You are no use for ballet if your mouth is bigger than your extensions, which you could actually work on." Meg nodded pertinently, placing a leg on the barre.

To finally change the situation she had caused, Madame Giry turned to a girl standing next to Maxime. "Tatjana, would you come here for a second, please?"

Tatjana, a young girl who had just come from Russia, stepped into the middle of the room.

She was very talented indeed and could easily thieve Meg's Prima Ballerina position. Her turnout was amazing, but Madame actually liked her for how much she was like the young Antoinette who she had been once. Her eyes had the same expression Madame's eyes had had all those years ago, before her heart had broken into pieces after her wedding. Tatjana was so equal to Madame's taste of ballet that she simply –had- to put her eyes upon her and treat her with respect. Sometimes, even with more respect than her own daughter. But apparently, the two of them had no connections but ballet whatsoever, probably to Meg's benefit.

With a nod to the pianist, Madame whispered a "sorry" in Raoul's direction and then concentrated on the class.

While Tatjana danced around the room, three hearts broke into pieces. Meg felt how addicted her mother was. Madame saw her youth and easiness die. And Raoul felt that he was not the only backup Madame had in her life. She would possibly be taken good care of by this art, and so he decided he wouldn't be a great loss after all.

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Raoul stood on a bridge in the middle of Paris, watching the Seine float underneath him and the stars shining above him. He felt deeply wounded by Antoinette's behaviour and how right she was about them.

They couldn't be together, and it tore him apart. He wanted to kiss her lips every day without fearing what others would think, he wanted to lie awake at night to watch her sleep, wanted to bring her croissants to bed in the morning. Oh how his heart was in pain. He wiped away the tears that were rolling down his eyes when he heard a voice.

But deep inside of him, he felt relieved from what the day had brought. He felt that she didn't need him to breathe and her only passion was art. 'She will survive, and that gives my life its total sense.'

"Monsieur, I think I could help you." A woman with a lot of make-up on her face stood next to him, smiling at him seductively. She touched his arm. "You wouldn't have to pay much, but this isn't an issue with you anyway. Look at all those clothes... I'd want to know if rich men felt differently."

He was appalled by this woman and stared at her. "Excuse me, Madame, but this isn't something I would do."

"What a pity. Hurt men are usually easy to get." She turned around and left.

Raoul thought about this woman for a couple of minutes, but no thought remained on his mind. They all floated away with the Seine, he felt so almost unbreakable peace, which could only be destroyed if life didn't give him the only wish he had left. And it wasn't to get Madame back.

Staring down at the water, he breathed out slowly.

He was finally able of letting go.

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	15. Winter

**:A/N:** So, here, as already promised, chapter 15.

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own POTO. The poem I used is again by A. Pushkin and doesn't belong to me.

**:Claimer:** My Maxime, my Tatjana, my cook. Again, could somebody steal that cook? I kind of… don't like him at all. Plus, my Jacques!

**:Thanks to: LMVT, Robika**

**:beta-read by:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

**:Far Cry:**

**: Chapter 15 : Winter :**

**--For Meg--**

"Jaques? Come over here please." The policeman frowned, holding his nose with his right hand. "I think we may have… a problem over here."

Jacques approached the other policemen. "What is it?"

"It's down there." The policeman pointed to the river of the Seine. "Dear God," Jacques exclaimed, turning away and breathing heavily. "Couldn't he choose less romantic a death?"

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"Excuse me?" Jacques leaned against the Opera's heavy wooden door. When it was opened by a young woman, he said, "Could I talk to somebody from management?"

"They're all out. Didn't you know they toured to Versailles today?"

"No, I didn't. Who are you?"

"My name's Meg and I'm a ballerina. Is it something I could help you with?" …

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Madame leaned over to Tatjana. "Please, you have to dance it gracefully! What will the people think if you don't? I even kept my daughter at home so that you'll have the whole stage for yourself, left alone the Corps supporting you. You can do it." Tatjana nodded, turning around to run on stage and calm down her breathing before curtain call. It was an important occasion and she'd do everything she was capable of. She'd make her feet bleed even more than usually.

Antoinette sat down on a chair in the background, seeing all the girls from the Corps walking around and stretching a little before it'd be time for them to get on stage. At each back side of the stage, they were standing just like Madame was standing next to herself: Watching, observing, waiting.

The music began, the curtain opened, and Tatjana began to dance. Some minutes later, the Corps joined her, and they all danced to the music the Phantom had composed for them. It was his best piece, and Tatjana was just right for the main character.

Antoinette scratched her head, noticing that she didn't pay attention at all. Somehow, her chest felt heavy and loaded with the feeling of effeteness. She pushed the thought aside that something was wrong and forced herself to keep her eyes on the beautiful Tatjana.

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… "Yes. I might come back later, but… we found a body near the river. Since it's winter, we can only guess when it happened. He's all frozen, the poor guy. Are you maybe missing somebody?"

They had missed Raoul, ideed! She hadn't seen him for two days already. "Yes." Meg's eyes grew wide. "His name is Monsieur Le Vicomte."

"Alright. We knew it had to be somebody rich from the Opera. The man carried with him a book of poetry, and on the inside, there was a name scratched in. It said Madame Giry, Opera Populaire. Could you hand it out to the Lady?"

Almost automatically, Meg nodded and watched the policeman get a soaked book out of his pocket. She took it and stared at it, feeling her stomach turn. It had to be Raoul, and his mother must have given the book to him. He was dead. Really, dead.

"Monsieur, can you already tell how it happened?"

"No. That is why I'd have to come back later. Are you okay? Did you know the man?"

"Barely," Meg lied, biting back the comment that she had loved him. "Barely," she repeated. Jacques turned around and left. Meg slowly closed the door behind herself, stepping back into the Hall. She stared at the book, turning some pages. Then, a poem caught her eye.

_If I walk the noisy streets,  
Or enter a many thronged church,  
Or sit among the wild young generation,  
I give way to my thoughts. _

I say to myself: the years are fleeting,  
And however many there seem to be,  
We must all go under the eternal vault,  
And someone's hour is already at hand.

When I look at a solitary oak  
I think: the patriarch of the woods.  
It will outlive my forgotten age  
As it outlived that of my grandfathers'.

_If I caress a young child,  
Immediately I think: farewell!  
I will yield my place to you,  
For I must fade while your flower blooms._

_Each day, every hour  
I habitually follow in my thoughts,  
Trying to guess from their number  
The year which brings my death. _

**And where will fate send death to me?  
In battle, in my travels, or on the seas?  
Or will the neighbouring valley  
Receive my chilled ashes?**

**And although to the senseless body  
It is indifferent wherever it rots,  
Yet close to my beloved countryside  
I still would prefer to rest.  
**

_And let it be, beside the grave's vault  
That young life forever will be playing,  
And impartial, indifferent nature  
Eternally be shining in beauty._

Tears caught her eyelashes, forcing her to close her eyes for a second. How cool she took his death. How very little she felt in those moments. She was even able to concentrate on thoughts.

Did death grab him? Did somebody push him into the river?

No, Le Vicomte wouldn't die such a death. He wouldn't even leave his house alone, that little about him she knew for sure. It was not a crime, at least none somebody else had done to him that night. It was his own decision, and a shiver running down her spine ensured that her thoughts were right. A slight facette of his face flickerred in front of her eyes for a couple of moments. How much she had loved him. She would have given up everything for him. But as love bounds itself around two people, Madame and Le Vicomte, nothing on earth can tear it apart. Her knees giving in, Meg sank to the floor, starting to cry and scream what would be the most painful hour of her life.


	16. Sonata

**:A/N:** Argh, so Hitler's Strawberry doesn't read this anymore, huh? What a pity, it's actually getting interesting. And YES, he killed himself! Awww...

**:Disclaimer: **I don't own POTO.

**:Claimer:** Guess who.

**:Beta-reader:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

**:Thanks to: Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel and Robika.**

**: Far Cry :**

**: Chapter 16 : Sonata :**

Maxime slowly approached the crowd that had formed at the stairs to the rehearsal rooms. A man dressed in black stood on top of the stairs with a certain expression on his face that already proclaimed that he had bad news. Some girls stood in front of him, mainly ballerinas from Maxime's class. When Maxime caught Meg's eyes, she stepped next to her.

"This cannot become official. His death MUST remain unspoken about. Even in this Opera. I don't want anybody of the present people to even lose a word about Monsieur Le Vicomte. It is bad enough that you have already found out about it, and though it does not matter why that is so, remain silent. I can only recommend to you to keep your mouth shut. If we find out about anybody breaking this new rule, we are not sorry at all to dismiss this person. Or even worse." He nodded and continued without giving further details, "it is not easy for all of us, I understand. But it is a tragedy, and we need to keep our Opera full of visitors. Rumors are already going around, and we certainly do not need such a reputation." The man nodded, tried to smile but failed and finally decided to leave. Slowly, the ballerinas went to their rooms and the man went back down, leaving the two of them alone in the hall.

Maxime turned to Meg. "Wait, this is about reputation? He died? But why-"

"Just don't lose a word about it. To nobody," Meg said with a dry voice.

Maxime noticed that Meg was very touched by the happenings and so stoked her cheek. "Please don't be sad about it. We didn't know him very well, did we?" And although she lied saying that, although she felt that something was wrong, and although she already knew she had caused all the trouble with the shady plan she had made with Erik, she felt that this situation required a certain amount of sensibility.

"I think this rule is good." Meg felt her stomach turn once more that day. After all the ballerinas had come back from Versailles, she had had to stop crying and come down to hear about the fabulous evening. When she had seen her mother, she barely looked at her to avoid letting her see any of her pain. It had been hard, but she aimed not to hurt her mother by Raoul's suicide. Surely, Antoinette would not only suffer but break. And although Meg loved Raoul, she needed her mother more than anything on earth and couldn't take losing her, too.

"But who is this man?"

"He's one of Monsieur Le Vicomte's partners. I talked to him about Monsieur's death. You see, I was the one the policeman spoke to. The policeman came back, telling him not to spread rumors or give any information."

"But how did they find out?"

"Unfortunately, I had already told some of the girls. I was so desperate that I didn't think of the consequences. Let us hope nobody else finds out about it."

Maxime nodded, feeling a pain in chest. "How did he die?"

"To be honest, it was suicide." Meg wiped away some tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. "I can assure you that."

Maxime felt a slight shiver running down her spine and nodded. Was she responsible for this to any amount? Had her plans destroyed his life? What had happened? How could she only give into such stupid, childish plans that had obviously ruined a life, left alone what damage would be caused to Madame Giry. A thought crossed her mind. "Did you tell Madame?"

"No."

'I don't even know whether that is good or not,' Maxime thought, 'maybe it's better for her not to know.' With that, she stroke Meg's cheek again. "I have to go and talk to somebody. Don't be afraid, I won't tell anything," she lied. She had to tell Erik about it, no matter whether he wanted to see her or not. Both of them had ruined two people and they had to pay for it.

"See you around," Meg said and watched Maxime hurry away.

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Erik leaned back and stared at the papers in front of him. Some of them had the title "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven. Those he had used to compose a different piece of music, which was inspired by the "Moonlight Sonata" but felt different. He was angry with himself that Beethoven had composed the piece before he had a chance to. But then, the piece was too calm to fit his feelings.

The new piece had more pain in it and that was what Erik had intended. He had composed the new piece for Maxime to give his feelings the possibility to break out. Parts of it were full of love, others full of hate. But pain covered all of them. Some parts were much more aggressive, just like he was.

And so, Erik looked a last time on his new work, and wrote in big letters something on top of the very first page.

"_Monstrosity's Sonata"_

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Maxime cried as she snatched up the skirts of her dress as she ran down the stairs to Erik's lair. The tears seeped from her chin after they had made their way over her pale cheeks. She was unable to keep a single thought on her mind; they all spread in her head and decided to leave a second later. She could barely see through the tears.

The boat was at its usual position in the water as if it had been waiting for her, knowing that she'd desperately need it. The minutes felt like hours as she paddled through the dark water. When she finally reached the last corned she had to pass, her heart stopped beating. What she saw was almost more than she could take.

The liar was empty.

He had gone and had left nothing behind.

Slowly, Maxime paddled closer to the waterside. Getting out of the boat, she soaked her dress with cold water but didn't give it a single thought. Her eyes were wide open in pure horror, the tears had not even dried yet as they were followed by shock. There was, though, something white on the ground. She stepped closer, her heart beating hard against her chest. When she realised it was a piece of music and read the name of it, the lair was filled with a direful scream of deepest pain that would have forced any person down to their knees.

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	17. Broken

**:A/N:** I wonder where all my reviewers went. I guess my story's getting mush.

**:Disclaimer**: Don't own a single thing. It's all Leroux's.

:**Claimer:** Maxime, Tatjana, Jacques and the cook belong to me. Still. Plus, get to know the cheerful Monsieur Piaf!

**:Thanks to: Robika and L-M-V-T!**

**:Beta-Reader:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel

**:Far Cry:**

**: Chapter 17 : Broken :**

Antoinette turned around in bed. The cold winter's sunlight mildly fell into the room through a round window and fell onto the wooden floor. Madame watched the light play with the wood, showing different facets of it. Closing her eyes, she still saw the light. It was useless. She wouldn't be able to sleep. Slowly, she sat up, carefully sensing every pain that crept up in her

chest. She had felt very weak after the performance, though she didn't take part in it, and couldn't sleep half the night. Her chest felt tight and a dull pain put her in comfort. But since she could not locate the pain she didn't give it too many thoughts. The day had already begun

and she would need to train her students. The audience wouldn't worry about her health, too. It was the world of ballet, and the show had to go on.

She heaved her feet out of bed and her bare toes touched the cold floor. 'Maybe I should wear warmer clothes?' she thought and hoped that was the cause of her pain. She decided to wear her shawl and to act as if everything was normal. An almost 38-year-old woman didn't want any pity, especially not in her high position. She had to be strong and a role model, no matter what. The show must go on... After she got dressed, she combed her hair and felt that the pain decreased a little. Relieved, she formed a bun with her hair and stared into the mirror, finally giving something a thought that had been suppressed in her mind for ages.'Where is he?' she wondered. 'Did he leave?' Nobody was able to give her any information where Raoul had been in the last days, not even his servant wanted to speak to her. After the Versailles performance yesterday, she had gone straight to bed without talking to Meg. 'Maybe she

found out?' Antoinette nodded to herself and stood up, ready to have breakfast with the other girls. She sensed something was wrong.

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Meg leaned over, grabbing a glass of marmalade to put on her croissant although she didn't feel any hunger. The night had been horrible for her, and with the moon shining into her room she couldn't fall asleep at all. Tears had been running down her cheeks half the night, sinking into her pillow. She had read the poem in the book again and again, thinking about death. And she had pitied herself. But that, not even half as much as she pitied her mother. She wouldn't be able to tell her; even the thought of Raoul to be dead would kill her. The other girls had advised her not to talk to her mother, and it was what would be best.

A moment later, speaking of the devil, Madame entered the room and stopped to look around. When the other girls noticed her presence, they immediately stopped their whispers and stared at her. Madame felt a heat rise up to her cheeks, wondering what was wrong.

"What is it?", she asked, her fingers clenching to her skirt. The girls started to talk again, all turning away from her, trying to avoid her eyes. She swallowed, feeling an emotion she hadn't in years. It was embarrassment. "It is pathetic", her voice rose again, "to stare at your ballet master like this. Don't do it again unless you have reasons for it. And I cannot imagine such a reason." She immediately turned around and went out of the room, her chest aching.

Coming to a halt some halls further away, Madame leaned against a wall, seeing black spots in front of her eyes. She tried to reach out for them but failed, only touching the air. Finally, she admitted to herself she couldn't stand and sat down on the cold floor, feeling a light but cold breeze. What had happened? Why did she leave? What was it that made her heart freeze like the air outside? Why had they all stared at her?

Oh, it was this embarrassement she hadn't felt in years. It was like a burned child who came in touch with flames again. How bitter the past had been, how much her ballet master had shouted at her in class, causing all other girls to giggle – and all of it only because she had to work harder than the others to achieve more in her life. She had always been the best, and had never had friends. There it was again, she felt it, and again, there was nobody to talk to about it – not even her only love. It was gone, it had vanished, and what had vanished, too, was the sense of her life. It seemed like she'd be in pain until the last day of her life.

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Christine sat down in the chair and looked up to Monsieur Piaf. She had been called to talk to him.

"Mademoiselle... What is your full name?"

"Mademoiselle Daae," Christine nervously gave back.

"So, Christine. I need to talk to you about your abilities as a ballerina." Monsieur Piaf put away his quill and coughed, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the big wooden desk. "As you know, the Opera Populaire is one of the best operas in Europe. Probably the best, if you ask me. And we cannot allow ourselves the luxury of having an average quality of dance here."

Christine frowned, feeling a little sick. She didn't undestand his words, but did not know whether she'd want to.

"The teachers have observed your performances and find that there is no more work for you to do at the Opera. Your extensions are barely good, your feet have shown no improvement at all but rather the contrary. You have become what can not even be useful in the Corps de Ballet." He thought she would answer something, at least excuse her inabilities as a ballet dancer – but Christine's face didn't change.

"Since I know about your past, I do see there cannot be any other job for you than to dance. Maybe sing. You don't have any other qualities that could be of any value. See, Mademoiselle, there are a lot of options for unmarried young women. They can teach, they can work in hospitals, maybe even in church. But you have difficulties reading advanced books, and I daresay you are emotionally too young to face any serious problems as you would while working in a hospital." She nodded.

"Therefore, Mademoiselle, I have written several letters to other companies in France and Paris. You have been invited to dance with the Ballet Classique de Paris, and it's a great company. You wouldn't even have to move far away, it's just half across the town. You may …"

Christine stared at him. "Are you firing me?"

"I may not call it firing, but yes."

Christine burst out in desperate tears, sobbing into her hands, sinking back into the chair. Monsieur Piaf shook his head, feeling pity for her. But she was too bad to remain at the Opera, not even in the Corps she could dance. It was all a matter

of technique.

"You need to leave today, though; otherwise you won't be accepted at the company. I need to ask you to pack your things," he paused, "…now. The carriage will be here in an hour, I reckon you do not have many clothes."

Christine did not answer, she barely heard him through her sobs.

**:A/N: Guess what to do! Yay! Right! Click on it!**


	18. Learn to be Lonely

**:A/N:** This chapter is very, very important for me, especially the part about Erik. It has parts of my soul in it, and I would like you to read it passionately. P

**:Disclaimer:** I don't own "Le Phantom de l'Opera". The song I used for this fic is from the POTO soundtrack, sung by Carlotta and I just HAD to write about it. I kept on listening to it a lot for the past week, and God, it's more than soothing.

**:Claimer:** Maxime, the cook, Monsieur Piaf, Jacques and Tatjana belong to me.

**:Thanks to:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel (who keeps forgetting about how to push the "review" thingy), Robika (who never does … big smile… thanks!) and Incapability.

**:Beta-Reader:** L-M-V-T

**: Far Cry:**

**: Chapter 18 : Learn to be Lonely:**

_For Erik and… me._

Maxime leaned against the wall, her eyes focused on nothing. She silently sang a song, but parts of it were swallowed by her weak voice. She hadn't eaten for days now, but it was her will to die. Die down here, where Erik had lived his life, here, in the middle of what was left of his lair. It was cold, very cold… She had already forgotten what Erik did so that it was as warm as on a summer day. And the last time when she had felt her fingers was several "hours" ago, at least it felt like it. Since her last candle had burned down, she stared into the darkness. Not even the water made any noises to comfort her. But she wanted to feel what her lover had felt inside all those days ago, oh, and she would freeze or starve. She would die, and she would do it because she deserved to.

Hadn't she been foolish? What was she thinking when she seduced the cook, not far away from her only true love? God, how happy they had been. Their plan would have worked out perfectly if only she had been faithful. Raoul wouldn't have died and Erik and her would have been able to live happy ever after.

She had undressed her to feel more of the cold, to die faster. It was a dreadful death, but she wanted it so. And soon, it would be over. Some hours later, she couldn't sing anymore and closed her eyes. Falling into a deep sleep out of which she would never wake up again, Maxime died alone, unfortunate and, worst of it, without Erik by her side.

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Erik stepped out of the house. Taking a deep breath, he made his way through a very crowded street of Paris in the late evening. He crossed several streets; his head bent down under a hood, watching his feet take one step after the other.

_Child of the wilderness_

He was so different from all the people he had met. So very different. They had stared at him with horror written on their face or pitied him. None of them had really liked him. He did not even dare to think that they might have "loved" him, for his heart had given up that thought a long time ago.

_Born into the emptiness_

Was it his fortune? He came to a halt on the most popular bridge of Paris, leaned against the balustrade and looked into the water. The starts were shining on it, and he saw his own reflection. What was fortune, after all? He had made his fortune. He had left the Opera, sought a different place to live. He had broken his chains; he had left the place he thought the only one to ever be at. He had proven his heart differently. Unhappiness lay in the eye of the beholder.

_Learn to be lonely_

He turned around and watched some women pass by. He took off the hood, revealing his white mask. A small child waved at him. The child's mother smiled at him too, a little ashamed of her daughter waving to some stranger on a bridge.

_Learn to find your way in darkness_

Well, now, at night, they didn't see his face. They could not make out his scars, his ugliness, and his dreadful lines. At night, he could hide what kept him from living a normal life and feel a little bit of "life" himself. There were no more books that told him about it, he was there, he smelled the air, and he waved back to the child.

_Who will be there for you?  
Comfort and care for you?_

Oh, he didn't want to have friends. He didn't need anybody, now that he was full of himself.

_Learn to be lonely  
Learn to be your own companion_

He was his own friend. And he was the only person in the world he needed. He could make himself happy, laugh, and cry. He didn't depend on anybody, and he wouldn't ever again.

_Never dream that out in the world  
There are arms to hold you_  
_You've always known  
You heart was on its own_

He had been alone after his birth, and he'd be before death. The time between those two occasions were to be treated with dignity, and after his battle with what he thought had been love and human feelings, he had decided that being alone was the only thing in the world assured to him.

_So laugh in your loneliness  
Child of the wilderness  
Learn to be lonely  
Learn how to love life that is lived alone_

He lived a different life now. Peace had healed his heart. He turned from the water and went back to the house. A cat ran next to him, always looking up in case he would throw down something to eat. He laughed. Oh, what joy was out there in the world? And he needed nobody for it.

_Learn to be lonely  
Life can be lived  
Life can be alone_


	19. Silence

**:A/N:** Dear readers, here I am back after a week full of work and no breath to write at all. I hope I can somehow make it up to you.

This chapter is somehow short, I know, I know – but it's meant to be short. Enjoy!

**:Disclaimer:** I do not own POTO, its characters or the main idea.

**:Claimer:** I think you're clever enough to determine which caracters are mine and which aren't.

**:Beta-reader:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, who will hopefully have less work to do since I am now a proud owner of an "Oxford's Advanced Learner's Dictionary". Yay for this one.

**:Thanks to: L-M-V-T and Robika for reviewing chapter 18 and being faithful reviewers! Hooray for those two!**

**: Far Cry :**

**:Chapter 19 : Silence:**

Meg leaned against the door to Madame's bedroom, trying hard to hear the doctor's voice. Nothing but dull noises reached her ears and she was thus left in distress. She had expected herself to cry endlessly and scream at everybody in her pain, but found herself unable to react in any way that showed her feelings. Pluckily, she swallowed her desperate anger and didn't talk much to anybody. What was to be said? Her mother hadn't eaten in days, had only set by the window and stared at the winter of Paris, one tear after the other rolling down her pale cheeks. Her élèves had to be taught by Monsieur Piaf. Meg had difficulties looking her mother in the eyes and seeing what she had always seen before. What she saw now was a lover who was left alone by every warmth of the world. 'Mother,' Meg had said, 'mother, please, what is it that hurts you so much? Is it about Monsieur Le Vicomte? I am sure he'll be found soon.' Madame had laughed. 'Yes, darling,' she had said in a low voice, 'my love will be found… he will…' And Meg had felt that her mother had lied to her to calm her down.

Suddenly, the door was pulled open and the doctor stepped into the hallway. Meg's heart stopped beating for a minute. "What is it, doctor? What is her illness?"

He gently closed the door behind him. "I cannot exactly tell you. There is nothing wrong with her body. All her organs should be fine. But it is her mental state that makes her suffer, and there is no medicine for that type of illness."

"But – you must be able to do something! She cannot live on like that forever! She doesn't even eat!"

"I know, I know. All we can do is support her as well as we can. I cannot assure you that your mother will get better. There is no reason to lie to you, Mademoiselle. Your mother is very ill, and if you don't find a way to help her very soon, …"

"I understand." Meg felt her muscles stiffen. "Thank you."

"If you need me, call for me." He put his hat back on, turned around and left. Meg listened to his steps for a while, then turned to the door. Did she want to go back inside and see her mother suffering? Had the doctor told her anything?

After some moments, she saw her shaking hand opening the door. The room was bathed in sunlight and she stepped inside. On the bed, there was Madame lying, wrapped in thick blankets to keep her warm. Her face was pale and she was staring at a point on the opposite wall, not moving at all.

"Mother," Meg said, closed the door and stepped to her bed. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't react. Meg repeated her words, kneeling down, and took her hand. "Mother, please…"

"I am perfectly fine," Madame said, "it is just that I feel weak. I cannot concentrate on anything."

"I know," Meg said, carressing her mother's hand, "but you will be fine. You should eat something, and the doctor agrees that you will get better if you eat more."

Madame looked at her daughter. "Oh really?", she asked in a dry voice, "will I?"

Meg turned to the bedside table to cut some potatoes into pieces. Madame watched her moolily. Then, Meg placed the plate and a fork on Madame's lap. "Please, eat. If you want some flesh, I can go down to the kitchen and have some made for you."

"No, that is not necessary. Could you leave, please? I want to be alone."

Meg hesitated, tears rolling down her face. "Mother, please eat."

"Leave, darling. Leave." And so, Meg left.


	20. Maman

_„Maman?"_

_Oh, there was a lovely path. The path lead to a light of such brightness she had never seen before. Looking back, some faces passed her memory… There was her ex-husband and her daughter… some ballet girls… Raoul. Oh, what a pain shot through her chest!_

_"Maman!"_

_Darling, don't wait for me. Go and live your life, because mine has been over since my lips first touched his._

_"Maman… maman…" _

_Hush now, child, baby, don't you cry… _

_"Ma-!"_


	21. Death

_Death could be. And it was nothing one should fear – at least that was what her mother had always taught her. "Don't be afraid, Megan, there is a place we go and this place is so full of peace that our hearts shall smile forever." She had been a child back then, foolish… now, years later, Megan did not believe in those stories anymore. Yes, if she had a daughter, she would tell her exactly the same fairy tale about where the deads go. But she had no one to tell this fairy tale and so her tongue remained silent, although her mind burned with angst._

_Oh, in these fairy tales death equaled a peaceful sleeping. Why did her mother's dead face not smile? Why did it not look peaceful? Didn't she know, deep inside, that he loved her deeply? Didn't she love him, forgetting about all bitter earthy happenings?_

_Megan sat down by her mother's grave. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks.._

_Everything would be over now… the Opera had nothing special to give. Her dearest were gone and what did the word 'career' mean to her, anyway? It was all useless facing death. Slowly rising from the ground, she left her mother's grave to never return. She crossed many roads without knowing she did to arrive at some place… somewhere… there must be some point she could reach… Megan left so many memories behind that she felt as though she had just been born when she reached the Opera Populaire. Everything was erased – who was the famous Phantom of the Opera again? Had she ever had a mother? And who would she dance tonight – Giselle?_

_:Fin:_

Dear readers,

Please do not think I simply drop this story or want to make a quick end. The truth is, I had a horrible writer's block. After Giry's heart attack, I did not know how to continue – what to do with Megan. Everything that came to my mind seemed so useless. I could not let Megan leave the country to start all over, I could not let Megan die. But how give her the peace she needed to not break down over all these happenings?

After some weeks of slamming my writer's head against the wall and trying to write the next chapter I decided to let it go. I cannot force my stories – they float where they want to float. And so did this story. The last chapter was rather a big wave, but it suddenly had to get out. And this chapter was different… it came to me sometime this evening, whispering, 'please write me. Please do.' And so I did. When I began to write this, I did not know it would be the last chapter – but suddenly, Megan took on her own game and played it to the bitter ending. Bitter? No, not bitter – beautiful. This is the onlyending that honours Megan to an amount that satisfies me.

Thank you for having read my dramatic parody, or should I rather call it a humourous drama? I believe this story is bitter, sad, lovely – it's more than a parody with some fluff to it. I hope you enjoyed it, because I did.

They all shouted out far cries – but only Megan's and Erik's would be heard by destiny and they now rest in peace.

Legwarmer


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